by Thong Ba Le

His shadow fell on the crumbling brick walls,
the dark shape did not show a face at all,
longing for memories of the beloved,
the house once filled with people, with love.

The sunrays followed him into the room.
The stream of light showed the dust to bloom.
He pulled the window curtains wide
and saw him in the mirror, multiplied.

The oak tree looked slim under the sunlight,
with the golden leaves that danced in the air,
flowing with the wind and turning clockwise.
The broken handle rake stood lonely by.

He turned around, the family picture
hanging on the wall, looking to the future,
to bring the memories back to his mind.
He swept, tears were running down for awhile.

The house, the soul, the love and the family,
he will make this place a sweet home to be.

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