Always seems to be a struggle,
a constant source, for me, of strife,
to get to be somewhere and time,
in which it’s okay for me to write.
Why this should bring such difficulty,
i don’t get it, unless I’m faulty.
i only wish to spill and dish,
and have a place to speak my peace.
This little spot I’ve come to love,
its safe and warm, it was built with charm,
its name and picture are symbolic too,
for one came from the other,
and the other came from you.