Kindly featured by: [link][link] and by [link] with this beautiful poem:
How often I see houses How often I see houses and I say, What perfect space, what angles! Circumscribed To hold a feeling, balanced in a way Elusive in my daily life, described
Externally. Who knows what lies inside The walls, perhaps the paint is peeling there And slobs who never clean (you know I can't abide A mess) and piles of mail—but they don't care.
Now outside fantasy maintains its grip. Some golden ratio satisfies my brain, Convinces me that happiness will dip Its brush and paint my mood from this gold stain.
How strange then that a house when lived inside, Will hide from view the thing that gave it pride.