That stoic, elderly house
that sits beneath the sun
has it’s door hinged open
just waiting for someone

All day in the Virginian countryside
the waves of wind pass by
Yet the door remains open
‘till the sky begins to cry

A table set for two
venetian blinds on the floor
A stool, a record, a painting
All watching through that door

The night falls for the day
and the house falls for sleep
and through the unhinged door
A small songbird must creep

The sun forgets to wake the house
But the songbird pays her fee
To room with the house that night
and sings from the walnut tree

The house door swings shut
afraid to listen and hear
For the house is afraid
Of the musical musketeer

Careful to know each other
But their minds begin to roam
All while, the songbird brings him music
and the house brings her home