Plastic Flowers

Plastic Flowers

Before me stands a lovely home
Of wood, with stone facade,
With many rooms of many themes
Some cheerful, some quite odd.

The walls are trimmed in oak veneer,
What's real is something less.
Or is it more, what's covered thus,
The latter be my guess.

The window frames seem wearily drawn
And sag beneath the weight
Of cloth selected from a bolt
In ritual of late.

The walls and floors in nature's hues
With tiles and carpets lain,
Above the natural soil we trod
Outdoors 'neath sun and rain.

In all it forms a strange prospect
When seen amid a view
Of all the wonder God hath wrought
And shares with me and you.