----Whisper----
It's but a whisper that looks back
To trace its steps,
To throw the doors wide open
Come what may, but it recoils
A Siamese narrows its eyes
A shadow or a prey
Within its grasp
It's all in jest, in play
The doors, they swing so heavy
After years of not being used
Light through the cracks
The creaky floor
The footsteps in the dust,
Used to be snow
The Siamese, long gone,
Recoils no more.
It's but a whisper that looks back
To trace its steps
Searching for home.
Feeling a tad melancholy today, so this seems fitting. Thanks for reading, whoever chooses to do that :-)
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