one last time
a slow stroll
rising up the stairs
feeling the worn railing
under my hands
gliding on the smoothness
of years waxed
with the oils of progeny
peering into the empty bedrooms
faintly hearing the cacophony
of my giggling girls
from ancient slumber parties
the distant laughter
echoing in the corners
what the walls have heard
of childhood secrets
turning to the future
gently placing one foot
down in front of the other
thank you, safe haven
i’ll treasure the memories
as one last sigh escapes
and one tear travels down
i say goodbye
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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Touching and melancholy!
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Thank you, Eugenia! β€ I'm glad I was able to convey that. π
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Most welcome!
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Ooh, oils of progeny: wonderful!
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Thanks, Nick! π
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Poignant!
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Yes, aching for the past can be filled with sorrow.
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Indeed.
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