The house it was gone but the chimney still stood
Majestically midst ashes and blackened charred wood.
Reminder that here was where someone would come
To warmth of a family, this place once called home.
The glow of a fire, the smell of fresh bread,
A place to sit down, a comfortable bed.
Where the strain of life's labors and cares of the day
The open-armed welcome quite melted away.
The wind in the brambles now covering the ground
Whisper secrets of children who once played all around.
Faint hints of laughter and squeals of delight
Young specters still chasing the fireflies at night.
The call of a mother is heard in the wind,
"The darkness is falling. It's time to come in!"
Then sleepy-eyed specters are tucked in for the night.
Whispered prayers by the bedside, sweet kisses good night.
Oh, the treasury of stories that chimney could tell
Bout dreams, cherished hopes, disappointments, as well,
Of the ones who once dwelt in that house long since gone
Who came in and out daily and called the place "home".
But tomorrow has dawned, it is no longer today.
Now the ghosted of the dwelling have all faded away.
Time's hand has erased them. Now, all that is left
Is the lone steadfast chimney standing there by itself.
by Yvonne Golden
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