Old Ghosts, Old Houses



Looking backward into the buried dusty past

old houses weather the tides and all the winter blast

inside live old ghosts as they tell a lively tale

rattling their bones and trying to not fail

summer stories of children as they play

of Model T’s and cotton candy days

of hearts being broken on Sunday afternoons

of banjo players making feet tapping tunes

of new Buicks and mammas fried chicken

of television sets and letters from Great Britain

of new curtains and old friends stopping by

of stormy thunder and black angry skies

of kisses and forbidden love in secret

of sadness and confessing of weakness

of old soldiers and the wars that came

of trying to heal and not go insane

old houses and older ghosts talking right now

a poetry of seasons taking a bow




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