On the lookout for my last place to dwell,
some were OK, some looked like hell.
Seen a grand old home in a bad part town,
but it was too high and they wouldn’t come down.
We saw one so scary, ghosts wouldn’t live there.
I’m picky I know but I think that I’m fair.
My home now is charming; I’ve been here for years.
Saying goodbye I’ll probably shed tears.
I’m close to a harbor and a quaint Main street.
My neighbors are close but mostly discrete.
I have no garage and I’d like some land.
I’d prefer something wooded to the beach sand.
Though a lakeside retreat would surely be fun,
I’d soon be drowned paying for one.
I’d like something older and properly restored.
I don’t need a hobby cos I’m never bored.
I don’t need a compound or a pasture for beasts.
But a barn would be nice to house family feast.
So the search goes on, but I’ve no worries or fright.
It’s like finding true love; you know when it’s right.