Old Abode

I sit tolerantly

As you stare.

You observe me,

Staring at my imperfections.

You who search

Every crack and dusty corner,

Every flaw noted

By your scavenger eyes.

I am waiting.

Waiting for that one.

The person who will come,

Will not look, but will see.

This person will see how every crack

Every scratch and dusty corner

Shows my character.

And this person will love me.

He will see how nurturing I was

Children were born,

Kittens played, and I did not complain

For their scratching.

How young children thundered

Down my steps,

How my stairs now creak

As a testament to my age.

Cobwebs dot my corners,

And my floors have gathered dust.

I am young no more,

My walls are cracked and sore.

The newlyweds come by

And scorn my every side,

For my age.

So I will wait.

Someday a person will come

Who will see my beauty,

Who will appreciate my age

And I will welcome this person.