Cottage

This is a non rhyming poem I wrote while spending time at the family cottage.

Old creaky floors,whispering gray panel doors,pastel cereal bowls, in the early morning light. Laughter,splashes in the bay,the row of rustic docks,and an occasional spray of lake water from a passing boat;the excitement of it all breaks the normal afternoon lulls.
Evenings spent with relatives consist of strolls through there fairy like gardens,games in the pool house (uncle fills it with his sarcastic humor which has only a hint of spite),dinners in the four seasons room. If it is a long visit,following that is the making of colorful fishing lures.It is of course ending in being spoiled with the most splendidly unhealthy banana splits you could ever imagine.
As night strolls around the air smells of crackling bonfire ash,the springs of an aging trampoline,soaked but happy tired children. As the vibes calm,everyone heads to bed despite the yawning protesters. They each find it different, but this is my telling of the cottage.