The Little Red House

In a quiet meadow where clover grows sweet,Stands a tiny red house with the sun at its feet.Its door is the colour of ripe summer cherries,And its roof wears a bonnet of soft, glowing berries.

White curtains like clouds peek from each little pane,While red roses climb up in a joyful refrain.A chimney of brick wears a soft plume of smoke,And the whole little house seems to chuckle and joke.

Inside, the hearth hums with a warm, ruddy light,Painting the walls in the colour of night.A kettle sings softly, the floorboards are kind,And every small corner feels gentle and lined.

Oh, little red house with your heart-coloured door,You hold all the warmth that the world could ask for.A pocket of wonder, so cosy and small—The cutest of homes, where the colour is all.