Torn Curtains
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My dream is taking me back- back to my old home,
the room that was mine is now faded in time;
torn curtains are blowing in the wind while I roam.
In the open window- I hesitate then climb,
I stand silent in the stillness with reflection;
the room that was mine is now faded in time.
Such sweet memories I hold to my heart with affection,
I can hear the laughter of grandma and mother;
I stand silent in the stillness with reflection.
Once that floor was shiny where I played with brother,
all my dollies used to wait on my bed for me;
I can hear the laughter of grandma and mother.
Beyond those tattered curtains flowers I would see,
I think those days in this home were my very best;
all my dollies used to wait on my bed for me.
I feel sleepy- so lay down in my old nest,
my dream is taking me back- back to my old home;
I think my days in this home were my very best,
torn curtains are blowing in the wind while I roam.
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August 25, 2017 (Edit 09/26/18)
Poetry/Terzanelle/Torn Curtains
Copyright Protected, ID 17-1065-001-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2018
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