Jeffrey Hull

The house I used to live in
   Was ramshackle and plain,
The roof about to give in,
   Big holes let in the rain;

The floors were warped and squeaky,
   The doorjambs out of plumb,
The window hinges creaky,
   The rooms were painted glum.

Now evensong or matin
   Cool quiet rules my home;
The rooms are lined with satin
   Above, a roof of stone.

The alabaster remnants
   Of where I lived before
Are draped like honored ancients
   And laid out on the floor.

The ages pass in stillness
   From counting now exempt;
Walled off from pain or illness,
   Past praise or plain contempt;

But yet I miss the old place
   And friends who once dropped by,
Familiar as my own face–
   But most of all, the sky.


© 2006 Jeffrey Hull

"But yet I miss the old place
And friends who once dropped by,
Familiar as my own face–
But most of all, the sky."

The price of admission. The rest is good enough, with its moments, to be sure, but the punchline is exquisite.

Many resonances between this poem and last week's: elegaic, place-oriented, quietly stirring. Good choices of photos, too.