Tags
"Don't Fence Me In", Apartment Living, Bruce Botnick, Cole Porter, Jim Morrison, John Densmore, McMansion, Moving, Patricia T. Kenel. goddess, Raleigh, Ray Manzarek, Robby Krieger, Robert Fletcher, Submarine Quarters, Tiny Houses, Too Much Crap
Tiny houses on T.V., currently the rage,
knowing they’d be trouble hardly takes great sage.
Three-thousand plus square feet of furniture and crap,
small flat can’t accommodate, no debating that.
Ask a sailor inside close quartered submarine
what it is he longs for, of what it is he dreams?
Give ’em land, lots of land, with starry skies above;
doesn’t take a cowboy for elbow room to love.
Tiny, close-camped quarters where wife and I abide
surely were more fitting when we’d turned groom and bride.
Three decades of marriage, stuff does accumulate,
did a little culling, too little can’t debate.
Only temporary our living mighty close,
of apartment dwelling we quickly had full dose.
Six month lease we bought out right quick at just six weeks,
our profligate game plan not for the mild nor meek.
I’m a penny-pincher, of that there’s no debate,
we needed room to move ‘fore our love turned to hate.
Quickly took house hunting from simmer to full boil,
three bedroom and two bath was what we hoped to uncoil.
Longed for bungalow in hills of Hollywood,
where Jim, Ray, Robby, John, spout wisdom like Talmud.
Search took us high and low for home of modest size,
selected new abode, we’re once more super-sized.
McMansion in suburbs was not the home we sought,
location dictated four bedroom that we bought.
We’ve once more elbow room in house shared with my wife
Adios, tiny flat, hola, suburban life!
Hills are not Hollywood in southwest Raleigh town,
with our house we’re hoping to turn frowns upside down.
We’ve open-spaced design, that is the latest rage
and North Carolina’s where plan to end our days.
Know floor plans are like life, there’s some things just can’t get;
we two will make a home, and that’s a certain bet.
Wherever we do roam, with all life’s twists and turns,
it’s she who makes me whole, and she for whom I yearn.
We’ve blue skies up above, for now we’re riding high,
could change in an instant, but I won’t run nor hide.
My love’s the foundation, my love’s the master plan,
wherever we two go, we’ll get there hand in hand.
Tiny houses on T.V., currently the rage
knowing they’d be trouble hardly takes great sage.
We’ll hit thirty-two years, come middle of next spring
and I can hardly wait to see what else life brings.