Eyes windows of the soul maybe,
A window, my friend, is soul curry.
It’s where moonshine belies its craters,
It’s where the crow caws for water,
It’s where birds enjoy their natter,
It’s where the mind is free from chatter.
It’s where the rains spray you with relief,
It’s where there is fuel for every belief.
It’s a place to soak your sorrows and hang them dry,
It’s a place where to shamelessly cry.
Many sights to behold and emotions to be felt,
Flowers, breeze, freedom and bliss to be smelt.
Sightings at the window are a mixture,
More eventful than a motion picture.
Greengrocers, postmen, maids with their hands full,
A watchman tapping a stick and cribs with babies beautiful,
Bickering wives with sulking husbands in tow,
Serene old men and women going with the flow,
These are just some of its creatures,
Endless are the people to feature.
Every feeling a window must have,
A home without one does not salve.