To Her

One’s home is her castle,
a refuge from hustle
and bustle of office,
the jostle of mobs;
nest in which refuge to seek
from apostles of doom
by the wherry that’s painted on wood
on a wall of the room.

Kitchen to mortar and pestle
the herbs for the grub
that she rustles;
nook where to nestle
in comfort and wrestle with issues,
indite her epistles,
ensconced at the trestle desk
cunningly made from a door,
delight in the whistle
of blackbirds, bristle of brushes,
the thistle-and-mistletoe theme
of the rug on the floor.

(JMN)

(c) 2022 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved