On Aging

Old houses settle in;

they shift on their foundations

comfortably, and arrange

their walls in crooked disarray

to suit their needs.

Their joints may creak and sometimes

scare the little ones and even big ones

with too much imagination;

sneaky tears may drip from pipes

and in winter frost creeps up the panes

and in around the doorsills.

But left to its own devices

an old house will slumber on

not realizing that it needs a plumber,

roofer, carpenter or paint.

Until one day a stone will slip,

a side will sag, a joist will give

and we will stare, surprised,

to see the old one is no more

than just a heap of rubbled wood and stone,

like a skeleton in disarray, with all

its secrets out for public view.

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About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
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2 Responses to On Aging

  1. Julie says:

    I love the way you created a visual image with each line of the poem, as clear as if you were standing within and then outside of this home. Lovely, Sue…lovely.

  2. Theresa says:

    I love this Sue, beautiful imagery and the ad after made me laugh! 🙂 Great poetry, I have to admit this is becoming my go to sight when I need a little peace. Love you

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