My Searching Begins
The house is now quiet,
the children have gone
My beard they’ve left ruffled,
as memories grow long
With trains and dolls scattered,
where last they played
Their love remains buried,
inside of the maze
The cupola harkens,
a last candle there burns
As the attic sits waiting
for the toys to return
The old house is silent,
but deep from within
Their laughter still hides
—and my searching begins
(Thanksgiving: November, 2016)
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