The house is not a mystery
that’s made from trees and history
from every old nook and cranny
you hear the voice of a nanny.
Papa pops up to make early
the coffee and lets out Zoe
the cat points like a unicorn
the approach of a vacuum horn.
The grand girls all day play
pretend puzzles of their world
while the board games nap
gathering light into a lens.
At night the windows fly
boat sails lift the sky
climb the moon high
and breath falls to a sigh.
The Coming of the Toads 