I like old homes
The history is easily running there
Everything has life
Has word
Has blessing
The technology has not destroyed them
The insurgency has not changed them
There is still yard,
The pool,
The jug
The bird sings
The fish swims
The walls of little rooms
The guest means a huge crowd
The table linens are wide
Not table for two
Not table for four
The sounds of the old ones are heard
Their presence is blessing of the home
The jugs are lash of pickle
Little pot has no meaning
Votive cooking resume
The neighbor has a right
The hands have sound
The trees take a breath
The garden has not yet been a wish
The underground is not warehouse
The yard is not called balcony
The rain showers in the yard of the house
The porch under the mat
The tea is always made
On the kettle
In the pot
The door of the house is always open
For throwing the party
It does not need to reason and argument
The foods are simple and home made
Its scent does not need ventilation
Its scent goes to seven houses across the room
No one has dried bread
The bread is table linens' bliss
Uninvited guest makes waters' stew be added
Annoyances need no consultation
Friendships are endless
Hellos are hearty
Depression is a rare disease...
I like old homes...
No comments:
Post a Comment