Climb up the ancient worn stone steps, <br />Into another world. <br />Though my old legs aren't quite adept, <br />I want to enter this old girl. <br /> <br />massive doors before me stand, <br />Of solid oaken woods. <br />Storm shutters open, to the bay and sand, <br />how many storms have they withstood. <br /> <br />Stepping inside dwarfed by the doors <br />I can feel the celing fans. <br />Toiling away, throughout the core, <br />Fastened long ago, by long dead hands. <br /> <br />'Impossibly high' comes to my mind, <br />This celing high above. <br />This house has withstood everything even time, <br />Whenever push has come to shove. <br /> <br />Looking out of the attic, out to sea, <br />I can see the ships come in. <br />The blue green gulf calls out to me, <br />Like a siren's song pregnant with sin. <br /> <br />'The mansion' is what we call her home, <br />But the word is not quite adequate. <br />And she roams these halls most oft alone, <br />Which is a subject we debate. <br /> <br />Only jose stands by her side, <br />Seeing to all her needs. <br />Within these walls they've laughed and cried, <br />Wondering where tomorrow leads. <br /> <br />When I see Galveston fall behind, <br />I hang my head and cry. <br />Those three are always on my mind, <br />Lord how I hate to say goodbye. <br /> <br />5/12/12 Alton Texas<br /><br />Juan Olivarez<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mrs-ross-s-house-galveston-island/
