Generations Past. <br /> <br /> <br />When I get up in summer nights air in the rooms <br />of my old cottage are dense with souls of those <br />who lived here before. As I stir the air they move <br />away they don’t see me but feel a presence that <br />they think of as a passing ghost. <br /> <br />Young souls are fearful but are told that ghost <br />means no harm to anyone and that is perhaps true. <br />Sometime I hear murmurs, voices of sorrow <br />but also of pleasure, it is life lived which unseen, <br />relive itself endlessly. <br /> <br />In autumns when the rooms get cold, in a home <br />made of stones, I light the fire the souls settle in <br />the wall behind the hearth and the cottage grows <br />silent as we wait for a new spring.<br /><br />jan oskar hansen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/generations-past/
