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Rated: E · Poetry · Biographical · #2223442
The sounds of age...
Between the bathroom and coffee pot
it seems I have been careless.
This old house talks to me in the morning.

The creaks and groans of her awakening soul
softly call out beneath what I imagine
are my silent and careful treads
along her worn wooden hallway.

Between the bathroom and coffee pot
it seems I have been careless.
This old house talks to me in the morning.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2223442-This-Old-House