Outside, the sun, a clear winter
day; inside the sofa sinks
and swells, an old friend's
warm embrace, a deep well
of comfort and strength.
Someone else chose it and
treated it gently, as if knowing
it would someday be mine.
Like the wind-chimes that thrill
to the wind in my yard,
and my favorite chair--
where I knit, write, and dream,
and brush kitty's luxurious hair--
the few things I own don't just
fill up my home. I delight
in the items I choose, and
the histories of those
that have been loved and used.
As my grandmother said
way back when: Everything
old becomes new again.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
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