you're the tender shadow of the osier under which i repose my dreary being. your shade laves my wounds, tinkers my bones, and salves my scars. your shade quietens the throbbing pain that swells betwixt my limbs. i've been on voyages; from the milky way down to the boroughs of the town you live in. yet my roots have, failing all else, sepulchred themselves alongside your own. you are the comforting delight borne by a mid-summer evening, you are where i let my being wither to twigs. you are my home.