Somedays-
I think of my old country house.
The house that sheltered my childhood-
The house I was born in.
I think of its walls-
That once helped me learn how to walk.
They are now weary, and
wounded, as
the dry scabs of paint fall.
Somedays
I think of my old country house
Deserted.
It stands in silence.
I think of its doors-
That once opened the way
for a new world to me.
Shut tight.
They are now tired of waiting.
Somedays-
I think of my old country house.
The one I promised, that I’ll return one day
But perhaps-
I’ve forgotten the way.