I quietly walk through its abandoned rooms.
Softly as a mouse.
So as not to disturb or rouse.
I try to feel, reach out to past.
Sense what has come to pass.
I listen intently to the silence.
Free my senses from constraint
An penance.
I slowly walk down its thorough fare.
Past rooms of gloom an dusty ceils.
Into a kitchen of yore an backdoor.
I stop and close my eyes.
Reach out to lives cast.
Hoping for a vision that lasts
Of this farm house,
Long past.
Categories:
ceils, farm,
Form: Free verse