My Searching Begins

The house is now quiet,

 the children have gone

 

My beard they’ve left ruffled,

 as memories grow long

 

With trains and dolls scattered

 where last they played

 

Their love remains buried

 inside of the maze

 

The cupola harkens

  a last candle there burns

 

As the attic sits waiting

 for the toys to return

 

The old house is silent

 but deep from within

 

Their laughter still hides

  —and my searching begins

 

(Thanksgiving: November, 2016)

 

 

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