THE SOFT HOUSE

When I went out walking in the hills,

I passed a little house settled in a dip

like it was bolted to the earth.

It was the softest roundest house

I‘ve ever seen, with the warmest light

leaking past its windowsills

that made me want to knock on the door

and invite myself in, to a total stranger’s home

just so I could feel some more of it.

It felt like home. The softest roundest kindest

home, where you could live happy

for the rest of your days.

I’ve never forgotten that house.

I couldn’t ever find it again, like a mirage

in the desert it seemed to disappear.

But it left a little afterglow

that stays with me even now,

from the house in the dip of the hills, up high.

copyright Roisin Duffy