WALKING THROUGH A HOUSE FOR SALE

You can see some houses have a soul,
Their shadows mock forgotten goals.
Dreams and dirt ground into floors,
stains and sorrow blemish doors.

In some houses you can hear the soul,
In hushed tones the tales are told
by old bones’ morning groans and creaks,
Strong winds met with hisses, and shrieks.

Can one smell a dwelling’s soul?
The garage is pine and motor oil,
The kitchen, bread and heat.
The child’s room smells stale,
though Mom, she keeps it neat.

Can touch uncover a dwelling’s soul?
What stories might this attic hold?
A crib, and a lock of fine, dark hair
in Baby’s Book, blank pages to spare.

The asking price seems pretty fair.

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