This Old House

The ivy-laden wooden skeleton,

That used to hold our memories,

Is now just that, forgotten to time.

Where we dreamed, consumed,

And fled to when the rain fell.

We didn’t pay you any mind,

but since you fell to disrepair,

I miss the old us.

That creak in the stairwell,

That I’ll never hear again,

Is like a piano missing a key,

No song will ever be complete.

The warmth your walls gave to

My siblings and I when we

Danced to dads’ old jazz

And blues records, was

Indescribable, the perfect

Acoustics for growing up.

Now, it seems the

woodland creatures

Have commandeered your

Heart for the better,

For now, your tender

Cradle holds the 

Memories for families

Of all species, and then

For many times over,

you forever will.

Farewell, old friend.