The Old House...

I have memories of dill smells
and the living room's piano
where a mouse made a nest
and I learned my passion.

There were stairs to an attic
with young boy hidden corners
and a basement, dark and cool
relief in the summer.

Our room was a shared one
two beds and one window
at night we would listen
and hear the floor's creaking.

It was brick, on a corner
as strong as Gibraltar
and it carried us through
the storms and the quiets.

Still time took us away
we left in the winter
houses change in an instant
drifting thoughts, though, they stay.

I'm nearly fifty now
the house close to a hundred
a lifetime away from me
and still I remember.