The Unlikely House

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
The house next door has its peculiar good
Not so much in structured certitudes
Nor in craftsmanship's felicities
And ideal? It falls short on most ev'ry count
In what a house is philosophically --
I've never met the man who mows the grass
Nor could I visit him if I so wished
He chose another town to sleep and eat
(And I hear tell he's not one great to meet)
But when I gaze out from my house's eyes
And see the tangled wild it has become
I am the last man left to tend the earth.

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