The Old House

A squiggling street leads up
to the old house
that's fishing for compliments.
Where the walls are whispering
and not listening anymore,
like in the old days,
when it was full of life.
I saw the future
in the coffee-grounds,
coiling up on me
with a slender smile,
but my thoughts were on the tulips
and I stowed away the vision,
some old books and the peace of mind.
So I learned to wait and see out,
a silent future and the evening of life.

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