Whether hammock ‘neath the swaying palms,
seaside shack or lean-to.
I’m packing my kit and moving on,
to find somewhere I mean to.
I’d pick an old hut deep in the wood,
where most would fear to tread.
Or a cave cut long or treehouse high,
somewhere to lay my head.
Whether cabin in the northern pines
or igloo in the snow.
If the bed is soft and rent is cheap,
then I will surely go.
From tropical heat to the frozen north,
or dunes of the Sahara.
I’ll search for digs most anywhere, even
Kenya’s Masai Mara.
I’ll weed the garden and milk the cow,
I’ll do most any chore.
Work hard ’till I’m starved of love and food,
to help settle my score.
(Yes I am looking for a new place to stay and thought I would write a poem about it)