Our Home Is Not Ours

Our home is not ours. It is a
summer camp for the rest.
We have housed a wasp nest that
lived in a pipe shaped hole in the wall.

A mouse lived between floorboards.
Another built a home behind the
tumble dryer. Making a nest from fluff.

A wasp nest boiled in the gable.
We watched from below as jousting
wings revved outside.

Ladybirds have cuddled in the corners of
window frames. Sheltering from winters
grasp and breath.

Sparrows, herb rack the guttering.
Flying between the pines and home as
they picked up seeds from the tree stumps.

Spiders have lingered in corners.
Creating trampolines for flies to
try and bounce in, before a waxing up.

We have had a lost bat that must have
come from the attic. Cradling him in a
towel before releasing into the mouth of night.

Our home is not ours.
We share it with whoever pops by.
Just like they when we came to earth.

By Gareth Culshaw

Gareth lives in North Wales. He loves the outdoors especially Snowdonia. He is published in various magazines across the U.K. Visit his website here.

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