As I close the door for the very last time <br />I hear the sounnd of creaking metal grind. <br />The rubbing of the wood upon the floor <br />Sounds of which I shall hear no more. <br /> <br />Shutting behind me an endless past <br />Leaving fingerprints upon the glass, <br />heavy with memories, these feet linger with each step <br />past the place my schoolfriends and I each morning met. <br /> <br />Turning back I face the time defying tree <br />when once scaled the Canary wharf I could see <br />Until Mother caught sight and shouted me down <br />with promises of punisment and a motherly frown. <br /> <br />Through the curtainless windows I peek through <br />scanning empty rooms I shall never again step into <br />How queer they seem when stripped and bare <br />It was as if we was never there. <br /> <br />'Sold' says the sign at the end of the drive <br />Yet within the walls our times are alive. <br />The blowing of the Birthday Candle, <br />The silence when asked who broke the handle <br /> <br />The Tears shed when Grandma passed away <br />The morning frenzy on Christmas days <br />Within those walls shall those times go <br />Whether there shall be more I do not know. <br /> <br />Down the street past the old sweet shop <br />where we would line our pockets with sweets until they'd drop, <br />Up the neverending steep steep street <br />Past the Jones's whose garden is still so neat. <br /> <br />Till the house is but an image fading from sight <br />A street light dying in the dead of night. <br />Round the corner then finnally it is gone <br />But little old house within my heart you live on.<br /><br />Not Long Left<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-leaving-the-house-for-the-very-last-time/
