Kitchen chairs tobble to the floor.
A broom leaning in a corner collecting many,
many days of dust that was and is.
Life that is still but move so slowly.
No sounds of want and needs.
No teaching what is to learn.
No warmth of holding little ones to your breast of love.
No I loves to be said, nor heard.
Have you and I become like that which sets in this house
collecting dust and empty time?
Have we become a burden to life that lives?
We must not.
We must regain our life.
We must take in a fresh of being, like that of fresh air.
Sweep the cobwebs from our minds that are being still but yet moves slowly.
Get down to where you can see face to face of love again.