This old house

The summer heat had lulled this house to sleep, but now with temperatures dropping
and winter slowly approaching, its walls are complaining. Its just too cold and its bones
are groaning.

The following is a portion from my poem
‘The Voice’ with a little happier note

The house won’t stop creaking at night.
Is it trying to say something we don’t
want to hear? Houses say words too,
they hold what is true! They are faithful,
wrapping their arms around us,
opening their windows to let in light
touching us with rays of daylight…

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