Is made of old wood.
From a barn in the East
From a mill in the valley
And from where else
I do not know.
Beech, cedar, pine
And other types too.
It makes me wonder
Who cut the trees down
Who built the lumber up
Whose feet have
Stepped on our floor
Whose horses have
Slept in its stalls.
I am sure
I will never know.
But the house speaks in
Silence, of experience
And richness.
Our home
Is built of old wood.
No comments:
Post a Comment