I tiptoed into the sitting-room
now a most revered room in the museum
once this room was full of life and of genius
it's still full of people, but the poetic life is gone
just as is the genius of former days who lived here
I try to sense the once so bristling life of this place
those discussions, all those plans and poems
difficult to see such life in a place full of tags
even his shoes have tags, his coat and pipe too
I nearly laugh out at this attempt to capture his spirit
this room where he was so often is mute
the whole house is mute, no poetry here
it forgot his voice, his steps on the floor, his smile
Outside, in his garden, I sit for a moment
the birds sing of birdy issues, the flowers look their best
much have been changed since he strolled here
but somehow I sense him out in this garden
all these new birds and flowers know him too
they never met in the flesh, but they convey his spirit
nobody and nothing know him better
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Originally Posted On Site: 2009-11-14 11:58:08
Last Login: 05.22.12
Visits as of 12-12-07: 81
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