House Like That

House like that
writes stories on it’s wall.
House like that writes summer spiel when
life sits in the portico and drinks sweet lemonades.
The afternoon perches on the mahogany table
wearing crochet cover, frilly corners teased by the river-breeze.
The Sun melts into their lemonade glasses and
their eyes crystallize it.
Wind chime tinkles, Chrysanthemums smile.
They sip, sit and talk till moon-rise.
House like that has a wall with my name on it.

House like that
writes stories on it’s wall.
House like that writes winter tales when
gleeful shadows warm up their hearts around earthen hearth,
their smiles lit up the flame.
The cold night takes a whirl around them searching
a place near the hearth or their hearts to mellow over.
Grandmother’s roasted potatoes impels the chilly wind to
take a bite from their harvest platter, the fire licks the flavour.
Children giggles, sleepy backyard coos up.
They sit, eat and talk till the night ripes.
House like that has a wall with my name on it.