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<div><i>Solitude.</i></div><div> in front of the dull house, painted with muted tones</div><div>of greyish skies and endless winter whites - stood</div><div>a young couple, no more than twenty years in age.</div><div>grace of grass, sophistication of stuccos and </div><div>walls of wear and tear - maybe of those that glitter, </div><div>isn't gold but memories of loves and affairs.</div><div> </div><div><div><i>Beauty?</i> </div><div> </div><div>how could there be any after we managed to </div><div>find non-satisfactory questions to answer?</div><div>shall our family be a variable to this function -</div><div>we struggle to pay our debts - can government</div><div>be involved - what other expenses are we managing</div><div>to miss - will we fake our warm facade for all to see?</div></div><div> </div><div><i>Affection!</i></div><div><i> </i></div><div>as we reflect amongst the rustic woods,</div><div>watching our small cottage from afar</div><div>come closer my love, far from the noise landscapes.</div><div>can you see our memories beginning to form here.</div><div>could we move closer here, and head east?</div><div>let us move far, away from the cityscape.</div>
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What is the sum of 7 and 5:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.