3: 00am Poem by James W. Spain

The dream continued
each and every evening.

The cold nights at the Vermont inn
warmed only by the fireplace

crackling in the distant
parlor

as it had for the past
two centuries.

It was as if I was living
the life of the person that shared

this same bedroom with me but
in a different time and in a different century.

The historic old Victorian
instilled a haunting feeling in

all that stayed
just for a night or two.

Perhaps it was a feeling
of contentment and inner peace or

a sentiment that
the old inn had a way of sharing.

The dream continued
each and every evening.