Old Home, The
Poem by Frederick Kesner
It will never be like this again.
Just yesterday this house was alive;
Today it's empty, yet again.
This makes one think about tomorrow.
The old oaken door is the keeper,
Letting the joy in, keeping sorrow out;
Yet harbours both in a special way.
Within this house memories abound:
Who among them on that chair did sit?
What parties gathered this table round?
Where are the children, leaving bare
The nursery, the attic once filled with toys?
Draughts pulsing with life in the stairwell,
Swatches of talk in the empty rooms
Warm cozy kitchen - heart of the home;
Yes, never to be like this again.
Time will soon send us all a-packing
Then only ghosts shall wander the halls;
In an age where past yields to present,
When grand old walls give way to malls.
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