Friday, August 8, 2025

Rambling, a poem

Rambling

This old rambling house
rambles on at odd hours,
conversing with the rain
and wind and ghosts of those
who lived here before me.

It whispers nonsense, I know,
murmured memories
I can not share; yet
I listen, try to pick
out a word, a meaning.

And one of these days
I too shall ramble on,
being none the wiser,
understanding nothing,
my house fading to silence.

Stephen Brooke ©2025

Incidentally, the inspiration for this piece came from a Frank Herbert short story titled 'Old Rambling House.' Mostly just the title.

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