Sweet home

I graith walls,
Walls that art bulwark,
Walls that hark,
Walls that art soothfast,
Walls that conceal,
Who I am or how I feel.

I graith walls:
Walls to imbosk,
to cover what’s withinforth,

Walls that art strait,
Walls that even avert our eyen
From the tears those might incline.
I graith walls:
Walls that nowise let me, truly touch
Walls that I love so very much.
Walls that need to fall!
Walls that meant to be bulwark
art prisons after all.

I graith walls,
Walls that throttle aught but shack,
Walls that left us alack,
Walls that cumber us in relation,
Walls that don’t fie,
Certes, that art our creation.