And so, I asked them;

Have you seen my house

Bathed In moonlight or considered

For a moment the texture of each paint

Chip the Stained glass is content to blend, merely

To please your eyes?

 Might it be fair to assume

They would call me on the

 Telephone rather than deliberately

Engage a flutter of steps upon a limestone

 Alley pervading midnight’s charge to unlock and

Open my creaking Cherry- Oak door?

A moment of silence if you will, the

Organ intends to play a Hymn and a

Lullaby to inform you I am sleeping.

Fear not, for I am but one of those of whom

You entreat with a smile and disregard amidst

Your affairs. Light a candle, bid me well, and continue

As you would. Lay me to rest in uniform row and

Visit me once a year to offer a rose.

Once upon the season’s change, may you

Adorn my cold and coarse slab of stone

And tell a story of what I meant to you!

Tell all you know the story of my life or in accord

Admit you have now forgotten to even call. I am

Not watching, for I am not seen and so, I asked them.

(James W. Rollings © Wednesday October 10th, 2012 @ 11:25 A.M.)