this is the house that you built
not the way you’d do it again
arguably – but nonetheless
a mute testament
you made the colours calm
and the walls permanent
at least I stayed free knowing
it was your design
if it was your choice; the
lonely days distance themselves
in fragrant innuendo, scents
that cloud reason
they grew here where you
used to be – do they plague
you too in your raison
de renaissance
© 16 Dec 2009, I. D. Carswell
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem