A Rundown Mansion
A Run Down Mansion
Were I able to speak through a breeze,
I would tell of the youth I have seen;
Through my cracks and kemtoned paper,
They were just eighteen.
Neath dappled shadowed oaks,
They giggled and trailed the sidewalks of evening,
To the old drug store for chocolate sodas,
Swiveling stools and cute soda jerks.
The fare tasted so much better then,
Ham and cheese, eggs over easy, and scents,
Scents of Bokar and hot grease…but I
I cannot speak nor stroll.
I could only wait and embrace
And comfort the too soon married;
With hope they will remember when they tarried,
In an old and creaky yesterday mansion.
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