House

House

He had a small but practical house.
He quickly gets ready wherever he goes.
A house, like a house, a little home, whatever you choose to call.
But to have a house that goes with you.
It must be a snail, a hermit crab, or Peter.
It is the story of Peter's house that fits on his shoulder.
Sometimes, it pinches him and sore all the way.
So, Petar stops and fixes it.
It must have been the doorstep that bent him over.
Or the balcony presses on his neck.
Balcony with a view into the distance.
Down the city streets or up to a mountain road.
Peter goes.
He is looking to find a convenient place for his house.
With a canopy of the blue sky.
He reclined like that in a deckchair on his balcony.
looking at the clouds and the flowery fields he left last summer.
Next to him, a pecking blackbird wipes its beak.
In the distance, jay was dressed in a little pink coat with a white collar.
Screeching, trying to sing.
The palm of his hand protects him from the sun's rays, which
pass through the clouds.
He falls asleep with the chirping of the woodlark.
The music he likes the most.
And wakes up washed by the rain.
With a hand red from the touch of a nettle pillow.
Staring at the cute blue flowers of Forget Me Not!