I live with iron, lead, and steel
in the house you built for me,
in the country.
A rusty door keeps the wind out;
it creaks, but it's not often I need hear it.
Inside, resting by the window,
I listen to the rain sing pitter-patter on a tin roof,
and ask aloud; "What will grow, anyways?
It could rain for days and dry soil would stay so."
A few weeds once speckled the front yard,
but they withered when you left;
not from thirst, but because they needed you.
Specks of silver could be found in your footsteps,
and a light spinning at your center
radiated warmth on chillier nights.
Still, you were but the kindling for my forge.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
I live with iron, lead, and steel
in the house you built for me,
in the country.
A rusty door keeps the wind out;
it creaks, but it's not often I need hear it.
Inside, resting by the window,
I listen to the rain sing pitter-patter on a tin roof,
and ask aloud; "What will grow, anyways?
It could rain for days and dry soil would stay so."
A few weeds once speckled the front yard,
but they withered when you left;
not from thirst, but because they needed you.
Specks of silver could be found in your footsteps,
and a light spinning at your center
radiated warmth on chillier nights.
Still, you were but the kindling for my forge.
