There sits a silent room in the middle of a house.
Where you can hear the stirrings of a visiting mouse.
A room in which to contemplate.
With logs burning in the grate.
Devoid of all technology.
A solitary room for me.
A leather sofa sitting proud.
Favourite poems read out loud.
Books line all four walls.
Where the darkness casts shadows as evening falls.
Enfolding me in its warm embrace.
The trials of life briefly erased.
Wait for me little room.
I will be there very soon.
© 2018 Taylor Crowshaw