Empty earthenware pots littered

The shabby path to my house

A thatched little hut with empty doorway and


And empty inside, though a light wind blew

No soul was seen or heard

Though sunlight shone upon dust motes

No light pierced through the silent corners

Though bells in the distance chimed

An old forgotten story

Some tune men danced to, in another time,

Another world,

No whispered ballad was heard in my house

No carpet softened the harshness of her stone floor

No fire burned in the empty grate

And no smoke rose from her hollow chimney

No glimmer of movement shone through her dazzling

Darkness, no shadow curled upon itself ‘neath the high ceiling

And my house, she neither slumbered nor dreamt

She did not spin tales ‘neath the noonday sun

Nor chart the pathways of the stars

Her doors and gates and windows barred no weary traveller

Woman, man, nor animal litter

Some came, some left, and those who stayed joined her silent vigil

Atop that hilltop, in the eye of time

And empires whirled to their zenith and crashed over high ridges

And in the midst of echoes in the deep star-lands

So my house held

And never was a sound heard save the cool whistling wind

Or a sight seen save the sun on the dust motes

Never was the earthenware filled or the fire lit

And yet there I dwelt

Ever since and ever more,

Known yet unknown, even to my own threshold.


Image Source: http://wallpapercraft.net/hd-fireplace-backgrounds/


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