Old Neighbours

Old Neighbours

And what beauty is there in an old oak door?
Or a blue shuttered window?
Or a defaced red ocre brick from Bologna?
Or in tired stone?
Or lead gutter?
Or in a worn brass handle?

Perhaps the Architect, the Mason, the Joiner, or Smithy could explain,
How the remnants of their souls remain?
Or maybe it’s just the want in me,
To see these things how I wish them to be?
Or maybe it’s simply,
through no fault of my own,
That I recognise myself
In the hewn grey stone?


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s