Remembering

An old and slightly battered car rattled its way up the gravel drive,
Winding in and out of the dark pine trees,
Close enough to brush past the resin coated branches,
That line the narrow stone highway to the old house,
The old house that was once his, the drivers,
Brushing his blond hair out from the way it fell,
He pushed the thin spectacle frames back into place,
Before kicking open the jammy door, and standing up,

Surveying the ivy growth that turned mad upon the crumbled stone,
Observing the warped oak front door that had shrunk,
And the old tower given up to the invading crows,
Seeing with dismay the red tiled roof rotted away from beneath,
Moves hesitantly forwards over the crunchy gravel,
Palm placed on the weathered wooden door,
Feeling the knots and grains of ancient timber,
Before pushing the oak open upon iron hinges,

Breathing in the musty smell of old wood polish,
Flowing the scent out into the long hallway,
Stepping upon and over the creaky floor to the lounge,
Stooping through the to low door-frame into the room of dust sheets,
Running curious fingers over old memories of you,
Biting back tears that formed upon the pine dresser,
And letting them fall upon the roughly hewn rocking chair,
Ignoring the pathetic light streaming in through the empty glass,

Author's Note

Mmmm the smell of nostalgia