WHERE MY KIN GOES, WHEN THE WIND BLOWS

An enormous, windbag thunderstorm is blowing in,

I must protect the roof on my trailer; it is tin,

I will rope the roof to the ground,

Crawl under my bed, with the hound,

And, leave room for the stray kith,  neighbors, strangers and kin.

FIRE SALE

My prop taxes are due once again,

They've gone up on my shack made of tin,

During the last four big fires,

My trailer lost all four tires,

I just can't move away, I can't win.