Crescent

I trod these boards as a boy.

Or crept, I should say.

The deep carpets still make my toes skitter.

Three steps down to the living room. Still exciting, somehow.

So much to look at. Everywhere.

A crescent within a crescent: rooms arcing to left and right.

Embracing warmly, as warmly as the homemaker’s arms.

Especially the bathroom:

That blue-green colour that I have been chasing all of my life.

Seldom found. So much given, though. I am deeply thankful.

The greatest treasure? Bobbie the Great.

Measurer of my benchmarks.

Observer of my farings and follies.

Lover of family.

Loved.

 

© Tom Tide 2016

 

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4 thoughts on “Crescent

    1. Just read your poem about my home in the crescent. It has been a place of peace and comfort for 52 years and has always welcomed visitors. Although we age, love is always young and grows for ever. We were told by Jesus that we should love each other. Thank you for loving. Keep writing and we will enjoy reading.

      Liked by 1 person

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