It’s My Home

Found a quiet spot by the riverside; made an observation; presented a surprised resident with the outcome:

‘It’s no caravan!’
retorts the man,
‘It’s what I own,
It’s my park home.
I spend my days
In many ways –
Putting up my shade
Round the frame I made.
Sometimes it works,
Other times, it irks
To match which side
Should be beside
The metal frame –
Let’s try again!
I trim and weed,
I plant some seed
And watch it grow
In the terrace below.
I’m proud to own
My own park home.
It suits me well,
So here I dwell.’