- Past Lives in the Old House

The old house creaks, it's getting old, The wood groans stories, brave and bold. Each step I take, a memory's trace, Of happy times, in this old place. Dust bunnies dance in sunbeams bright, Showing dreams from long ago, in sight. A broken mug, a worn-out chair, Tell tales of laughter, beyond compare. The garden sleeps, all covered white, Where pretty flowers bloomed so bright. Each frozen plant, a wish held back, A silent promise, on the track. But spring will come, the ice will melt, And life will wake, a story felt. The house will breathe, the flowers grow, Leaving shadows, down below. And in that change, a peaceful ease, A mending heart, put at ease. The old house waits, with quiet might, To start again, and shine so bright.