Old House
Wooden floors creak…squeak, squeak, squeak
The languid cat naps on the piano
Letting tumbleweed run its course
All the day long
No thought enters the desolate attic
Of decanters and hundred-legged pests
Those who dare to eagerly venture
Will follow suit and never return
Names are unspoken
And pleas die unheard
As cobwebs hang into laughs
The creature below relentlessly strikes
Even grandfather clock loses count
Of curious dwellers gobbled astray.
Copyright © Christina Hobson | Year Posted 2009
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