deepundergroundpoetry.com
Autumn House
They rattle through this house of olde,
The echoed calls through arteries.
The lab’rinth leading from its bowels,
The iron heating in the core
Where beats its heart now long gone cold.
But as the autumn and the rain
Is rolling through and sinking in
To claim the rafters and the walls,
Was how the rattle came to be,
The autumn whis’ling down the halls.
But what of all the guests now gone
When holidays would welcome them
To sample of its luxuries?
The strolls through gardens manicured,
The games played on the emerald lawn.
Then came the evenings' dining fare
Of duck and quall and Guinea fowl,
The roasts of beef with tarragon.
The pastries afterwards with fruit,
And coffee served with crème Brule.
The old house in its heyday then,
It seems forever and a day
With no one left that lived here when
Who told their families and their friends
To come and visit them to stay.
And so they did, they flocked to see
The regal house that seemed to have
What everybody longed to know,
The way a proper place could be
To everyone from everywhere.
But now the parties' faded charms;
The clink of crystal stemware toasts,
The lilting laugh of meeting one
Whose visit was their first time here,
Whose host would take them in their arms.
And so it was back in the day.
The swirling couples danced till dawn
As music took them by the hand
To guide them up the golden stairs
While others stayed out on the lawn.
The locals speak of times like these
And wonder where they all had gone.
Those lovers in their tux and gowns,
The lilies gilded with such care
With stickpin pearls' glint in their hair.
I too myself do often miss
When I was lulled in my first tryst.
Right there, he met me by the newel,
And found I was too young for him,
Too young for me yet to be kissed.
It comes to me in saddened veil
The reason why I came and stayed.
For suitors and their challenges
Took down the boy I stayed chaste for,
Who died but watches over me.
In stocking feet, the rooms I roam.
There's no one else who knows I'm here,
Or knows as I do where they are;
The bones that rattle from the halls,
Where we have called this house our home.
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