The House of Old Age
Sylvia Read
To be old is to live in a large house
full of mementos, portraits, scenes.
It’s like the end of a turbulent day
with the prospect of sleep ahead. The house
is full of voices chattering, arguing,
singing, calling, of sudden smiles
as you enter a room, of tears even
when you leave it to go to the kitchen.
To be old is to watch people you love
curl up like dried leaves, to
cherish the immortal young, to
feel at home with the birds you
feed in your garden. To be old is
to look at the view beyond the house
not always clear, but the mist rises
from time to time and lights flicker
from windows and sometimes, not often,
you can hear voices calling, Come!’
� Sylvia Read 2008