Saturday, December 17, 2011

The House

She’s old now, her crippled hands
Rest easy in her lap;
Now shut the eyes which twinkled bright
At every merry laugh.

As barren as the dusty walls
As old as chair and crib
The house where she was given birth
The house in which she lives.

The rocking chair she sits in now
Is where she used to nurse.
The tiny crib where she did lay
Her children, she used first.
A brood of chicks, their chicks, and theirs
She faithfully has grown
In the house where she was given birth
The place she calls her home.

There’s nothing left of all her work
Her flock took flight this morn’
She has as much as she did have
That day when she was born

A moment- ah! recall it all-
A moment when it’s past.
The house in which she breathed her first
She breaths her very last.

1 comment:

My quick report
Your tender rebuke
Three wise-men