The old rooms are musty already,
The spiders settle in to stay,
The grass is growing too quickly
Over lawns where we used to play.
The tree that I planted to mark
the day he came into our lives,
stands strong for the next generation
but it hurts us to say our goodbyes.
The holes in the doors are all patched now,
the temper of teens in the past,
and it seems like so long ago now,
the passing of seasons too fast.
The old fireplace is still rusty,
the next person’s problem I sigh,
but it warmed us on cold winter evenings
as we cuddled in front of the fire.
The carpets are worn down and faded,
Sixteen years of our feet passing through,
and the remnants of pet hair embroidered,
in the fibres will stay with it too.
The first home I made on my own,
five children have graced your strong walls,
the laughs and the screams echo loudly,
the memories still run through your halls.
I will miss you old friend it is true,
but don’t weep for me once I am gone.
The next year will bring a new family
and your story will soon carry on.
© Annie Whitehead 2015
Written in response to Poetry101: Day 10 Farewell