, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Who could live inside this house?

Perhaps it’s meant, for a wee mouse

No, even he would be too big

To sit upon the tiny twig

That leads up to the open door

My finger fits, but nothing more

I can’t imagine what could be

Inside this house, upon this tree

I could knock, then wait a few

I guess it’s something I could do

Knock, knock, knock, there’s no reply

Giving up, I heave a sigh

Maybe it’s just here for show

And there really is no one to know


Author’s note:  My husband found this little ornament hanging on a tree in one of my favorite places, Laurelwood Arboretum.  Someone had a sense of humor!


Photo and poem ©2016 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved