Fifty-nine stairs to the dock will eventually splinter and - TopicsExpress



          

Fifty-nine stairs to the dock will eventually splinter and weaken. The old swing is hanging by one frayed rope. The dock will sink into whatever fate the river offers, and crab pots will rust on an overgrown shore. The cornfield will be cut and the yard will no longer witness late night games of kick the can. The bench at the end of the dock will wilt from solitude, the absence of four generations. The dining room table hides under a layer of dust as the forty faces at breakfast dwindle to just fifteen to just three until no one remains. A faded deck of cards abandoned on the table, worn keys longing for musical hands too aged to play; the same hands that created this sanctuary. Grand Bid has already been torn away and the dock has already begun to sway. Source: The House On The Patuxent, Dying Poem familyfriendpoems/poem/the-house-on-the-patuxent#ixzz2cv9N7Cu4 Family Friend Poems
Posted on: Sat, 24 Aug 2013 20:36:13 +0000

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