Poem - This Old House - Jane Marie Collette

 

This old house

 

A poem, by me Jane Marie Collette

 

 

 

This old house is made of sky and earth and stone.

The great trees have grown up around her, year by year.

The squirrels and mice live on and within her.

She breaths in and out as time goes by and

Happy souls live within, coming and going year after year.

 

The seasons come and go.

In the fall the trees turn gold against the blue sky over her.

Time weaves in and out of moment upon moment.

The North wind comes howling, and the leaves wirl around and around

And the rain comes down and hits against her doors and her windows.

The snow piles up on her roof and she weeps from time to time.

Her old bones creak a little more, but still, she goes on and on, she is strong.

 

In the spring the tulips bloom and resurrect the memory of the lady

Who planted them 50 years ago.

The lilac trees grace with elegance her old frame.

The birds return and build their nests again,

As they have done for a hundred years or more.

 

In the summer we try to reclaim the old garden plot from the tall grass

And tenacious weeds, just as many have done before.

On summer evenings we sit on her old porch and listen to the wind chimes,

As we watch the sunset and talk of old times and happy plans ahead.

As we cling to this moment, the stars come out and the crickets begin chirping.

Could we but be in the now a little longer, could we set aside the worries

For those, we love a little more often and just see them?

Enjoy them before they are grown and before they are gone.

The old house reminds us of things unspoken, but always there,

To slow down and treasure the moments,

And hold close to those whom we love most.