I’ve dreamed of a place that I’d love to call home

It’s worthy of volumes -- I’ll start with a poem

It may be that the outside’s an average estate,

But inside its walls would be cause to elate

Each room in the mansion, each corner, each space

Would serve the sole aim of being a writing place

There’d be all sort of desks, pens, and comfy, large chairs

Bookshelves for walls and, of course, spiral stairs

Some rooms would have themes like suspense or romance

Some would have music to inspire the pen’s dance

“No talking allowed,” in some rooms, clearly marked

For sometimes pure silence gets the writer’s fire sparked

In other rooms, talking and coffee allowed

Laughter and cell phones, the buzz of a crowd

A room made for geeks would have laptops and things

For the electronically challenged, pens that give muses wings

Each evening at seven some writers most wise

Would meet to critique and then work to revise

There would be no TV, that great thief of our time

It’d be free of distractions to free up our minds

All writers welcome! Come away from the race!