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!