Old House

Old house strong and silent
More of worth than dollars and cents
A hollow vessel of opportunity
A lidded crock of history.

How many strokes from quill to key
Have written of heartache and harmony?
How many dreamy hours were passed
Staring out windows at shadows cast?

The Holiday glow, the sickness still
The eyes full of tears, the hand on sill.
The Wedding gown,waiting, hanging upstairs
The baby clothes, knitted, folded with care.

The sadness of dying, alone again.
Empty rooms, hours to spend
Waiting for people to open the door
And smile with delight at what is in store.
momolove1955 momolove1955
56-60, F
May 6, 2012