In Its House Poem by Melanie Emikohe

Whisper your whispers
Don't rustle the resting twigs
The trunks have big ears
And a door to its grave
Keep your strides
Within the well-trodden path
Curiosity is not for free
Under its leery cloak
Don't fondle its monuments
Leave them to their slumber
Pass by like a breeze
Easy eyes, don't stare
Bow your head to the orb
Follow the wise lead
Its old, humble tenant
Obey his subtle cues

Don't stop braveheart
All the way down to its feet