Vaguely after Yeats

Forty is when to build a house,
at least to write a poem.
To build a house you need a lot.
For poetry there is always room,
no matter if you squat
in a mansion or a ruin.

A poet is a nomad sort.
That’s why to let her roam,
pitch her makeshift tent
in her choice of element,
though she easily holds court
in the crannies of a home.