It is all scattered,
and I pick up the pieces,
and build them again.
The clothes are washing,
tumbling around and around,
spinning noisily.
The shopping is done,
and that is what I call fun,
getting what I want.
My door is not locked,
but you’ll find the way is blocked,
by the wild garden.
I still get my post,
a drone delivers daily,
and my parcels too.
I’ve a tunnel out,
that leads to the garden shed,
where I can escape.
