So much rot and decay.
We thought the house was beautiful 
A red painted door.
Welcome in.
We thought it was a sound place to build our life upon.
To nest in.

I always wondered why the robins built their nest in the uprooted tree
Didn’t they see how precarious it was?
They eventually left I’m not sure why
After the big storm and do or die.
No eggs this year maybe?
The body knows when conditions are right.
And this year nothing is right.

The veneer is starting to peel off the door
And revealing the rot hidden just below the surface.
It was never secure.
The foundation we thought was rock solid
Turned to sand and shifted inexplicably.

And we are left tied to this thing we own.
The only place we have ever called home.

What can we do but buckle down?
And try to keep building on shifting ground?

We built our house with a lot of love,
But what does love get you, god above?
Will it keep you dry when the roof is leaking?
Can it still give you the shelter you were seeking?