Weatherboard And Old Cottages. Poem by Geoffrey Fafard

Weatherboard and Old Cottages.
(An old poem of an old love)

Cats and brooms, climbing rose blooms
Old straw mats, odd shaped rooms
Giant fig trees ancient and tall
Twisting creepers wind up an old brick wall
Long passed, just passed, now and tomorrow
Makes no difference to stumps all hollow
Some will say the old house talks
That something within creeps and stalks
But its just old timber laughing and chattering
Throwing a song at the garden green and flattering
Loving the gentle stroking rain, warm
Fresh from the mouth of a passing summer storm
And the cat curls up near the verandah door
Not unlike those that lived here before
The damp weatherboard smells of life and more
From a vase a rose petal falls on an old timber floor.