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If my house were a couch

it would beckon those from far and near

to lay down their troubles and their fears

 for here was a place of rest.

It would call out like a sparrow’s song,

Come, come. The night is long.

Be a candle and melt in to me.

 

If my house were a couch

it would be softer than a newborn’s cheek,

sturdier than a woodpecker’s beak

and smell of fresh cedar boughs.

It would never stain nor need a wash

not even from spaghetti sauce.

 

If my house were a couch

every nook would be a place of rest,

a book would lay upon on my chest

and time would almost stop.

I’d lean back with an iced fruit drink

and ignore the dirty kitchen sink.

My mind would be at peace, I think.

And just imagine, a child’s dream:

my whole house would be a trampoline.

A giggle would come from every bounce.

Laughter would shriek from every pounce.

If my house were a couch.

 

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This is the second painting in a series of black and white watercolor paintings. The first painting was called, Mama Bear. The third and fourth are called, If My House Were a Bathtub and If My House Were a Campfire.

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