You could weave a bamboo hut and place it on sand before the sea.
Or nail a wood frame in a thicket amongst the trees.
You could plant a home, like corn, in a prairie's breeze.
Or lay a brick by brick fortress on a mount for all to see.
But, if there is no love that there in resides,
the rooms may be full, but loneliness will abide.
For a house of cards is like an old fool and his gin,
a sad game of solitaire where no one wins.