This Old House Comforts Me

This Old House Comforts Me This old house, box where I rest my weary head, my soul sleeps here, with uneasy comfort - these four walls, they hold my precious sanity, a SMALL service that matters not when I am dead. Glorious roof, keeps the rain from waking me, blocks the beautiful night sky, a small price- to pay for secure and very dry retreat, yet sacrifice, sacrifice always seems the key. Solid floors, still they creak when I pace, familiar noise like the bark of a friendly dog- so unlike a cat's meow that says, you serve me, this is my sweet abode, you are easy to replace. This old house, box where I rest my weary head, family lives here, dog lays at foot of the bed. Robert J. Lindley