This Old House

Our bodies, our home
Made of flesh and bone
Are finite and will crumble
Like sand from stone

Even with constant upkeep
Even a carpenter's abode
Succumbs to the elements
Over time and will erode

My house was made of straw
Flimsy from the start
Patched together with dreams
And songs from my heart

And the strength of my spirit
Hid the sloping floor
And the light of my love
Welcomed you through my door

I had to give away some straw
To help others patch their homes
And ignored the howling winds
That aged sinew, guts, and bones

Perhaps if I could do it over
And I hoarded all my dimes
I would have rebuilt stronger
And bought a little time

But even as I write this
Spirit is shaking her head
For she gains her freedom
When this house is finally dead. 7/2021

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