It Ain't Much
The door doesn't shut
The windows don't open,
But, give it some time
Some wishin' and hopin'
Creaking floorboards
And the coldest drafts,
Occupy these rooms
With echoes of laughs
Only a house rundown
Is what the eye sees,
Yet, the deadest place
Is alive with memories
The lady in the cellar
The man in the attic,
Shrieking and calling
And stomping erratic
Below a leaky roof
My feet still roam,
No, it ain't much ...
But, still it's home.
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2024
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