The House’s First Twirl | A Poem

The House’s First Twirl

By Sara Abbott

Twirling, spinning, the very first time.

The house is still, but the girl twirls on.

Tilting, moving, the walls go by.

Bright, dull, a story untold;

in this house that is so old.

Height and beauty but empty and still;

it is the house`s first twirl.

It remembers times gone past when children laughed and sang.

When there was still life within.

But cold and bare it stands here,

Wishing for those days to return.

The girl, unaware, dances and spins,

kicking legs and waving arms.

Suddenly, the trance breaks.

The girl stops and catches her breath,

watching the last rays

of the sun dancing on the floor and walls.

Playing with her hair.

She jumps up and flies home,

twirling and leaping on the way.

The house is still,

waiting, listening to her footsteps fade.

It seems to sigh.

It seems to call her back but she doesn’t hear.

As the sun sets, it seems to take all beauty and happiness with it.

But the house still had the memory of its first twirl.