I thought I’d give my house a name,
something to make it mine-
And riffled through the pages
of memories gone by…

Some of them were grimy,
overlaid with dust,
And some were dull, depressing,
useless with rust;

And then again there were some
with edges sharp with pain,
Ones I would not like
to dig out yet again!

But some were rich and coloured,
the texture silk and strong,
These were such as could provide
a name or even a song!

But when I took them out and held
them close to my heart,
I found them light as gossamer,
Ready to fall apart;

And so I put them back into
the trunk that holds my grief,
And gave my home the only name
which it could truly keep:
A journey, no destination great,
My Home is called “The Wait”…