For school we were told to write a poem in the style of the "Plans for building a cottage" or whatever it's called (I will look that up soon, don't worry). We had to use an ABAB rhyme scheme and discuss details of a cottage to be built. While I didn't use imagery in quite the way I think was intended, nor did I particularly 'play on the senses' (one of the pointers we were given), I wrote this anyway.
What? Non-angsty / enigmatically romantic poetry by Miriam? And it isn't even April Fool's Day...
From your perch in the huge twisted oak tree,
that stands on the green lawn, ancient and brown,
you’ll see the door of our cottage, with three
bright windows and the curtains falling down.
You said you’d fix them as soon as you could,
because I’m too small to reach the high rail,
and sunlight’s been streaming in through the wood
that slaps our windows as though in a gale.
We’ll paint our door grass green, you tell me now,
and the windowframes as white as new snow.
When we have a door, I say from my bough;
your acorns batter me, sat down below.
Of course we’ll have need of a library too,
for the books we collectively bring home.
On one side the paperbacks, bright, clean and new,
on the other you might find a dusty tome.
And when all that is done, we’ll need a room
for us, with a bed from a fallen tree,
and walls like the sky when lit by the moon,
through fallen curtains that I can still see.
All right, you say, later I’ll fix them too
I say build me a cottage, then tell me
we’ll have curtains and I might believe you.
Another acorn. You say, ‘Wait and see.’