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Poem

The tattered Cabbage Rose peeled
Elegant décor of decades past, the wallpaper offered
                       only a hint of its former beauty
Its faded pinks and murky greens belied
     the glorious blush of its zenith

As I stared from the perch of my uneven mattress,
     I pondered the old Chester Inn
I thought about the lives it had touched 
and I could almost hear the chatter of children
     readying a day at the beach
or the clinking of crystal, a romantic toast 

Its halls, still dressed in gray sculptured carpet,
told their story too, carried along on a musty
seaside breeze
An early twentieth century relic, the Inn was
bidding farewell, no longer able to compete
      in a modern world
Its dated charm lost on new generations

As I considered that waning Cabbage Rose,
I contemplated the course of life for us all,
      its cycles, its sequels
and as I drew my last sigh of crisp, salty air,
     I said goodbye to room fourteen

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