I am a round, curvy dewlling,
Coated in candy brick of soft baby pink,
Sugar canes make up my shelter
And lush velvet grass surrounds me,
Along with roses; pink, red and white.

The space most used is my Hall,
Made for painting and dancing,
Singing and laughing, having fun.
I am never empty, there is always someone here;
Usually my Mother, the one I hold so dear.

My private space, the one I keep for myself,
Is at the very back of me, hidden and concealed.
In here are my treasures of silver and gold,
Scrapbooks and pictures both young and old,
The home of creativity and originality -
It portrays who I am, the one no one can see.

My attic is the home of old dusty books and movies,
Old diaries, notes, secrets and stories.....
Things almost forgotten but never lost;
Things without purpose but always deep meaning.

My basement is filled with things I no longer need,
Or would rather not think of;
Bad memories and awful things, wrapped up in cotten,
Stashed deep down below,
They are better forgotten.

The sounds resounding from me,
Are a mixture of laughter and wails,
Sometimes one, or the other,
For I am rarely silent,
And rarely without thought.