Oak

Polished oak frames old papered walls

Delicate antiques sit where they belong

Across the room fingers of a fire dance and draw me to the hearth

where rushing streams of memories fill oceans in my eyes

Seems like maybe days ago when just a look meant things would be just fine

Smell of comfort, bittersweet corners soft with time

Above the hearth, a faded mirror reflects your picture over my shoulder

Glancing, smiling, noting similarities

all but my tattered jeans (which must by now mean something else completely)

I push the gray strands from my eyes and nod to you that things will be just fine

Polished oak frames old papered walls

Delicate antiques sit where they belong

They belong