This is a two-storey house with trees.
Brick-red gates with a very low fence.
Green, tamarind trees standing amidst.
The front lawn got flooded: it’s widened.
There isn’t plenty of light inside.
Old furniture and lots of heirloom.
Books for nights of the wise, nice, and mild.
The books from the blue, cool shelf in wood.
At night, something intrudes through the door.
Others will go through the floor; they can.
Its cold cousin walks through the window.
Some devil slithers up our stairs.
They are in the kitchen when we’re here.
We can stop one, but we can’t stop all.
Freedom and peace a little house gives
For we can’t protect this from the fall.
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