The door and the frame
Of an old house, Victorian.

Styled out of the development,
Out of the harmony, now weathered.

Splintered lace like shell,
Fell the molding, on trim less grass.

It all matched, I once lived there,
And developed the fear to change.

The agenda was, if it’s not in the past,
Make sure it is to be, viewed as past tense.

©2007, Ron Globe