Everything is old, even those newly formed cobwebs
Are ladled in dust, the timber floors creak and
Quiver when one small step is taken, they scream and shout
If so much as one little leap is thought about!
The air is cool but not unpleasant, a scent like
Old bookshoops, where the weather worn pages of
Well thumbed books adds to the atmosphere…nothing
Can be as magical as the effects of age, the passage
Of time adds character and depth.
Truly beautiful, something old is something wonderful, and
Also very wise…whoever knew of an owl that hadn’t seen
The night, who knew of a building who hadn’t been part
Of a tale?
That’s the thing about being old…the magic is in the
Passage of the time.