Tel est mon amour à [le belle]

All day and into the night, till Mother called
He worked hard on his dream: his tree house.
With guidance from Dad, he'd drawn his own plans
But insisted he'd build it himself.

His own efforts and sweat, his strength and his blood,
He poured into this house he had dreamed.
Though he worked quickly, he forgot not a nail,
Not a plank, not a shingle or board.

The house was as strong as it was beautiful,
And would sustain any great weather.
He cherished it so and never was finished,
Adding more boon and strength everyday

Even Dad and Mother were very impressed.
He lived in it for days at a time,
Building, perfecting, content with the house but
Never quite satisfied with his work.

But the house he so loved found fate in tragedy
when the tree it was built on crashed down.
The cause was unknown, maybe lighting or rot,
but his cherished tree house was now gone.

He cried for some time, and never forgot
the first construction he'd made on his own.
While he knew no comfort like his tree house,
he dreamed of a home he'd never need leave.