House On Henley Street

Remembering a visit to Shakespeare's 'Birthplace'. I closed my eyes and wished him there. My fingers traced the bricks and slate, Exploring textures rough and smooth: The wooden beams, the open grate. I stepped on creaking floors he’d walked, And climbed the narrow flight of stairs. I stopped by windows where he’d stood, And patted tables, beds and chairs. The building held his tears and joys. He seemed so close I hoped we’d meet. I felt him etched upon the place: He’d loved the house on Henley Street.