On the napkin spread out flat

On the napkin, spread out flat,

a smudge of blue, just like that.

Then red for the door, a square so neat,

a place for tiny, happy feet.

The chimney, a stub, then from its peak,

one white cloud, round, that doesn't speak.

The roof, a thick, unsteady line

of green crayon, a curious design.

This is home, she said, with shining eyes,

this is safe from all surprise.

The lines don't meet, not quite, not true,

but it’s a house, for me and you.