six chimes for seven

tick tock, tick tock, i hear the clock
a house full of clocks, some chime
once on the half hour, six chimes for seven
count the chimes and add an hour
the house is stone, weathered, solid
one story only, good for growing old in
it wanders, this house, spreading out
from the original, wide passages, high ceilings
built when there was time and space
big rooms, wide windows streaming pale winter light
outside, cold and crisp, leafless trees
the last vestiges of summer buried beneath the white
within, the warmth of wood fire and leather
flames leaping upwards, speaking warmth in orange flame
sofas, big and brown, sinking soft for comfort
occupied by hairy hounds, careless outspread
books lie, untidy, slightly chewed by teething pup
a cup, half empty,forgotten in the leaving
i am a stranger in this house, it is not my home
yet she bids me welcome and holds me safe
beneath her slate roof, her stone walls
her spacious rooms stir with memories
of those now gone, who lived and breathed
gave birth and died within the shelter of her
i am a stranger in this house of whispers
a stranger welcomed warmly without prejudice
will these same stone walls embrace and hold
within them the essence of my soul
when the short days of the flesh are done


Copyright © 2004-2010 by Eryll Oellermann