The heart Of my home Beats quietly, the niche Slotted in between piled Sheets and kitchen Cupboards. And all the Words are there I Studied and Bore - the Books I have not opened for the Longest time But here I am, the Weak evening sun Paleing the page and All my sagacity Spills and fades Yet the heart beats here still Purposeful, just Hemmed-in by People and the Comings and goings of The road. This is My abode.next poem