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I envy those Who have a house of their own, Who can say their feet Rest on what is theirs alone, Who do not live on sufferance In strangers' shells, As my family has all our life, And as I probably will. A place on the earth, untenured, Soil, grass, brick, air; To know I will never have to move; To review the seasons from one lair. When night comes, to lie down in peace; To know that I may die as I have slept; That things will not revert to a stranger's hand; That those I love may keep what I have kept.

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