An Old Desk

An antique black walnut desk

Having one cracked and braced leg

Just a thin and crackled spindle

Fragile as the shell of an egg

 

Once with varnish highlighted, grain

Now faded, cracked and worn through

With its drawer pull, now missing

Leaving the drawer barely making do

 

There’s also a chair, a companion

It showing the age they both share

And a half-read novel, open

Taking its place, with this pair

 

But now, there are no eyes looking

There are no words still being seen

The unused reading glasses

Have finished with literacy’s cuisine

 

The nearby bookcase, leaning

Has one paneled, glass door ajar

Inside, magical moment’s wait in vain

Neath an ancient cigar scar

 

The reading room’s door is shut

All inside is quiet and still

No one is coming to read the book

On the desk, in the room

With the water-stained window sill

 

Reviews

[Patricia Wedel]

dear Dave... there is a Time when we feel the warmth of all that we have read. The Key to the Desk is the Key to our Heart. The Grandfather Clock in the Hall keeps Time if we Wind it. The Ambrosia of the scent of Roses brings memories closer. gently, Pat

[Dave Brown]

a wearying winter brings a wanting for the scent of fresh roses
enjoy your day