Four years and his room is untouched.
I would love it that way
For years!
Stays ***** and span
The memory of my old man.
The southern window side of the bed
Where he laid his head
The eastern window that broke his sleep
With the sun’s first peep
His snapped photos on the wall of west
That ache my chest
On the northern wall the clock
That still of his time talks
His divan forlorn
Resting cold from his last morn
In each bric-a-brac
His touch his track
In ticks and creaks
His memory speaks.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
Four years and his room is untouched.
I would love it that way
For years!
Stays ***** and span
The memory of my old man.
The southern window side of the bed
Where he laid his head
The eastern window that broke his sleep
With the sun’s first peep
His snapped photos on the wall of west
That ache my chest
On the northern wall the clock
That still of his time talks
His divan forlorn
Resting cold from his last morn
In each bric-a-brac
His touch his track
In ticks and creaks
His memory speaks.
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