Treasure House

This house is full of treasure. Those books
An illustration's torn or missing, but still
They're finely bound. It will be sad to see them go.
I know that china's cracked, but even so
It shows a pretty picture to the casual eye
And 'though those prints are pale, they draw the gaze
Away from dodgy paintwork and old dreams
Worn thin with handling.
Hope fades, stacked in the corner.
Like a christmas spruce it dries
Under a crust of paper fans.
As the mantle clock chimes, all's well here.

here

here now let me give you my heart to
hold then we can watch together as
it sinks to the bottom of the well