Old Gray House

I live in an old gray house
With scarred wooden floors and wavery-glass.
There is a room in the back, behind an elusive door

Which I stumble on only in dreams.
The room is empty now and dusty from misuse
But the window views are wide and clear.

My husband, black-bearded, warns me off. I ache
From its lack. Even now I know I have gone back

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