Lonesome the old house stood
Majestic and serene
Gone are the voices of children
That echoed down it’s halls
Still lie the waters in the pond
Not a ripple, not even a tear
Shed for the little children
Who once naked, swam around in glee
Dust on the bookshelves
Shorn of varnish, dull brown teak
Cobwebs on rafters
Spiders busy at work
Gone are the children
The pillars of this house
In search of fame and glory
And a living to be made
They’ve all become bigger
Than this house, this old relic
They’re no longer little children
Whose laughter filled this space
I wonder if they’ll all come once
It’s just a daydream
I know that clocks can’t be turned back
It’s just my daydream
1 comment:
Time captured well poetically. The aspect of growing up leaving behind childhood memories and your narrative of these memories literally transports the children to a distant future, I can almost feel the geographical distance too.. good un.
Post a Comment