The Talking House

Is this poetry? Or a limerick? I don't know. All I know is it rhymes.
Perhaps it's rap.


There once was a poor man left without a home
And all through the country this poor man would roam
For weeks and for days and for hours and hours
This poor man would search for a home
And so he would go, to the hills to and fro
Past the rivers and valleys, through sleet and through snow
This poor man kept looking for days upon end
For a place that this man could call home

But after a while this poor man stopped a-looking
Decided that maybe there's no home for viewing
Perhaps there was no place that suited this man
This poor man who so needed a home

He slept where he could and found some form of comfort
In what he could find for that's all that he wanted
His sights were no longer set ever so high
For this man stopped his search for a home

And that's when he saw an incredible sight
Shone upon him as though from a glorious light
It was there all along but the door never opened
This place that he could call a home

"Hello," said the home and the man was perplexed
"You can talk?" asked the man and the home answered, "yes,
I'm a house that can talk and I've all that you'd
Possibly want in your very own home"

The man was amazed as he stepped on inside
The house was beyond what his mind's eye described
On those nights when he dreamed of a wonderful place
That he one day could call his own home

In the past this poor man had seen this house before
But he never thought that he'd step up to the door
And he never imagined that this very house
Would be somewhere he'd proudly call home

"This is perfect," the man said, his face full of glee,
"Tell me where I should sign, 'cos you're so meant for me!
I shall care for this house like no other and when
Others come I shall show them my home!"

The house said, "Sir, there is no contract to enter,
To sit on this sofa or eat at your leisure
These doors, they will open whenever you wish
But I'm sorry, I can't be your home"

The poor man looked up at the house and he said
"If you can't be my home tell me why have you led
Me inside when I can't even say with all honesty
That you are truly my home?"

The house said, "I'm sorry, I know it's a shame
But this house is now under someone else's name
Though your company's welcome whenever you're here
Even though this house shan't be your home"

The man sat and wondered what option to take
Should he stay even though it would make his heart break
For he'd know even though he'd enjoy all its comforts
This house could never be his home

Or perhaps he should try to continue to find
Somewhere else that would give even more peace of mind
But he couldn't imagine another, more suitable
Place that he could call his home

He thought
And he wondered
And queried
And pondered
He mumbled
And grumbled
And whispered
And hollered
His mind couldn't
Think
No, he couldn't
Process it
Unless he was back
In that house
That talked back
In the house that
Could not be his home

So he went back inside
And his mind came alive
And between all his thoughts
He'd sit down and he'd talk
With the cool talking house
About Wordsworth and Proust
About life and TV
And the 'Rings trilogy
About anything that
He pulled out of a hat
And he'd think in between
Of what man he had been
Searching every which-where
For a place that he'd dare
Call a home but he couldn't
(Or maybe he wouldn't)
And now that he's found
Somewhere safe, solid, sound
That he spends all his time in
He can't help reminding
Himself he's just minding
This house till the owner comes home

And one day he'll again be alone