Two houses occupy this street
where I like to walk and think:

the first, a purple house of Dreams;
then Truth's facade of black and white.

I love the spirit of the first,
and yet the second's certainties.

Trees by Dreams, and gardens spread
flowers, fruit, and vegetables,

versus Truth's clear-cut hedge,
ten evergreens, a weedless lawn.

Although Dreams can disappear,
Truth stays firmly founded there.

It often seems nobody's home,
and I wonder: rented? owned?

Are they're on the market? Sold?
Who'd be as foolish or so bold?