Viv in France wrote a poem yesterday, http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2011/11/20/changes-for-dverse-poets/, that haunted me from the moment I read it. I tried to ignore it. I tried to work on my novel, but it refused to go away. To truly understand the poem, it is necessary to understand the additional background found in this posting: http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2011/06/26/the-house-that-jock-built/. Viv, this one is for you.
THIS OLD HOUSE
by Mike Patrick
My new house has . . . atmosphere:
warm and comfortable, the early light
brings cheer to a kitchen steeped in
the smell of fresh-baked bread.
The church bells sound, calling me,
reminding me of the passing time.
I find myself counting a blessing for each tone,
and I wonder if this is holy ground.
Outside the open kitchen window,
a lovely garden grows.
The scent of roses stirs memories
belonging to someone else.
I find nothing sinister.
The memories are of the joy
of nurturing that rose in its first year;
children laugh in the background.
The previous owner must have outgrown
this place. How else could they leave?
I won’t. This old house once held everything I need,
and I shall fill it again;
let it be the home it’s always been.