This old house becomes a home

This old house speaks to me
In the silence whilst you’re away
Like an old friend lending an ear
It’s where my secrets stay

When I step upon these floor boards
And when I open that front door
I know I’ll find familiarity
I know I’ll be cared for

In the shadows of the night
The bougainvillea tendrils weep
For the sorrow in my heart
For the man I cannot keep

The porch swing meant for two
That harbours just one
The single coffee mug
In rays of early morning sun

To passersby it is not special
Particularly grand or noteworthy
But it holds a heart in waiting
For my love across the sea

This old house is just a house
A place for me to roam
Until you finally stay
When it becomes a home

I love you,  Julian.

About Ionia Froment

book blogger and reviewer, mother of four boys, classical pianist and amateur photographer. I love reading, writing, music and learning to cook new and unusual dishes. You can usually find me with my nose buried in a book unless I have the opportunity to be walking on the beach collecting seashells:)

26 comments on “This old house becomes a home

  1. I especially love the third and forth stanzas. Beautiful. Great imagery.

  2. Great emotion and visuals. Now I need a few tissues.

  3. This is beautiful. I just want us to turn that house into a home as soon as we can. I love you, Ionia.

  4. “…In the shadows of the night
    The bougainvillea tendrils weep…”
    That image, though sad, is beautifully written.

    Hope this happens sooner than soon for both of you.

  5. Awesome is as awesome does, that was just …………urmmm awesome 😉

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