Mark Twain's House
Mark Twain's house befits the man
Who wrote his famous writings.
Wish I could have been a guest
At his renowned invitings.
Recently I did the tour
And ambled room to room,
Imagining his essence
Which the house may yet entomb.
His library was furnished with
A charming reading nook,
Where he created bedtime tales
Not seen in any book.
His lucky daughters tapped his brain
Then bid their dad goodnight,
Retreating to the children's quarters
Up a staircase flight.
The billiards room, one floor above,
Was where his stories flowed,
His back turned to the table
When engaged in writing mode.
I loved my time inside the house
Though it was bittersweet,
Since I live now and he lived then;
No way the Twain shall meet!
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