A Poem.

There are places to walk,

And sights to see. 

It is like home, but different. 

It is cold, ice cold. 

“Wear a puffer” I say. 

Empty trees, no leaves, all about Autumn. 

Sometimes I miss home,

All the good things we have back home. 

Hairdressers, beauticians, and public transport. 

All the good things here. 

The buildings are old and pretty,

Home is newer, somehow. 

The best pistachio croissants, 

With moist, fresh insides. 

Living a free and happy life.

Where freedom is our divine right.