The Work

Scratches in the wood

Beneath my feet

Symbols long forgotten

Now faded but once neat

Much like the braid

Unravelling at my back

Someone's deft work undone

Under time's ceaseless attack

Fingers that worked and danced

Across a wall and windowsill

Mine in pocket, theirs in earth

Both of them lie still

So many years were poured

Into these splintering walls

A lifetime’s worth of memories

Now reduced to something small

Tap a pattern 'cross the etched wood floor

And trace the lines of work left bare

They loved it once and now no more

But the working is still there