Libby Hart -II
Rosebank Farm
The wind builds a melody
as nightfall’s sweet, dull thud
comes dancing. Steady is the rain.
All day the grounds
spoke a watery tongue,
ghosts were vanquished in the slush.
Now a single feather falls
from the crack in the ceiling,
a telling sign of what lives inside
this old house of dreams.
Those cave-dark companions
leave me gifts every morning.
The wind builds a melody
as nightfall’s sweet, dull thud
comes dancing. Steady is the rain.
All day the grounds
spoke a watery tongue,
ghosts were vanquished in the slush.
Now a single feather falls
from the crack in the ceiling,
a telling sign of what lives inside
this old house of dreams.
Those cave-dark companions
leave me gifts every morning.
