Forestries and tucked homesteads,
These higgled paths are often leading home,
Quite timelessly, I'd add, where all is play,
And I remember many of my joys.

A witness to a firm farewell,
Are wages of such deep community,
Transplanting of our very hearts,
These are sorrows gladly held,
For they make lovely beds of hope.

Giving motion to the site,
A sprinkle of a spin right there,
A flashing red on green on white,
And jumping symbols at the briefest glare.

Shaded stairs,
A sharp beam of light clings to the edge,
Texture obscured in dimness,
And the white walls glow in a visual whisper,
Echoing the chorus of my phone screen,
The ascent to bed begins.