Yellowed roses litter the floor
Their petals as frayed
As the photographs hiding in the drawer
Musty and crinkled from years yore

Still sitting by the hearth
I notice the old crimson armchair
Coaxing up images of Papa
I can still remember the stories he used to share

Splayed ’cross the couch
And showing its age
Lies Mama’s rugged woolen blanket
Intricate as those fabrics showcased in a vintage magazine’s page

This is the house that time forgot
A vision of love
Left unkept and to rot
Where life was lived, and life

Was lost
In a world that cherished people
Like Wordsworth
And Frost

Where silence was honored
And days were slow
Love was courted
And children were given the chance to grow

This is the house that time forgot...
Or was it the *people*
Who wandered away
Untaught?

I confess myself guilty of the crime
I was eager to run
And disinterested in the transience of time
But faster than the bat of an eye, I was suddenly the only one

Who could appreciate beauty
Who could cherish sound
Who relished in memories
And was not six feet beneath the ground

So heed my words
For they bear verity
Listen closely
And maybe you too will see

That life is not a race
Don’t dash to the top
Go slow
Measure your pace

And never forget the goodness
Life bore long ago
Because no one can ever predict
What curveball the present might throw