THE HOUSE

THE HOUSE

No one lives there any more
Behind the heavy oaken door
No footfall on the winding stair
Silence betrays no presence there
No kettle boils upon the hearth
Gone is the sound of that shrill laugh
And in the stillness now quite sure
That no one lives there any more

Outside the traffic rushes by
Past screening poplars as they sigh
And in the gardens long time sown
The overgrowth no one to own
Upon the blue brick laid courtyard
Grass claws its way through every chard
The birds still come to table now
From eaves and gutters from bush and bough

The house is silent nothing stirs
Hid deep amongst the planted firs
And in the pearlised dancing mist
A ghost upon the housing list
Dressed in white to glide not walk
Still forming words but does not talk
A presence left that none can see
The ether of a spirit free

No, no one lives there any more
Though they once did for years four score
Ingrained in brick and fabric fold
Remembered passing moments scold
Yet still I see her standing there
Above the rise of winding stair
As I turn the key in that oak door
For no one lives there any more

JP.