The Boxer

A Box, this is my cardboard box,
But also it’s my World,
A wishing well, or posh hotel,
In which you’ll find me curled.

It’s large enough to sit in,
And imagine you’re at sea,
Or trekking through the Amazon,
It means so much to me.

It’s brown and corrugated,
Like the roof on dad’s old shed,
Cosy in the winter nights,
In sunshine cool instead.

My box is full of hopes and dreams,
Better times will come,
A place where I can hide away,
From almost anyone.

I really like my cardboard box,
I keep it clean and neat,
I haven’t got another home,
As I live on the street.

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