Silence
Befalls This Home Now
Looking through the bookshelves - a
homemade book he chose
Trapped within the forgotten pages - he
came upon a red rose
Flatten down with care - faded in colour
- more so in its scent
Memories such of a time - so long ago - only
to himself it lent
It came from a happy home - a home
cherished - all with love
Every crevice packed with loving items -
fitting all like a glove
A garden full of noises - the song birds
they did forever sing
And on these evenings roll scents from
the flowers often ling
All crafted by a man to perfection - made
to the one he loved
As to no other person - nor idol - to his
love did he set above
There was nothing he would not do - to
him a toll well spent
To share with his fair maiden - who was
to him - heaven sent
Their home a range of seductive aromas -
a good woman baked
The scent of fresh green grass - cut - he
meaningful then raked
A garden and a home - once filled with
laughing children galore
With hollow sadness wasn't that some
sixty five years or more?
Silence - befalls this home now - bare -
the creaking of the gate
No more idle down song birds - as the
evening draws to its fate
The old man - restful in his chair - the
book between his hands
Memories forgotten - now remembered - now
fully understands
His weary sunken eyes closing - they are
about to open no more
Over the roof top and beyond the chestnut
trees - a spirit soars
No more idle down song birds - as this
evening draws to its fate
Silence - befalls this home now - bare -
the creaking of the gate
Indiana Shaw . . . -_-
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