Old roofs in Bath, Somerset, UK. Photo by Mizzyjo. Licensed under Creative Commons, courtesy Wikimedia Commons.
I
I have seen old roofs,
Broken for winds to enter,
All their secrets flown like homing birds.
It seemed to me they were like broken words.
They babbled, inarticulate, of men
Who came and went and will not come again.
They were full of whispers and of shadows,
Provisioned for a dream’s viaticum.
These only had a voice,
All, all the other roofs were dumb!
II
Under an old roof I went one day,
But there was naught to see.
Singing, silken drapery
Went down the hall with me.
I was aware
Of feet upon the stair;
Soft laughter and a little sound of tears,
Muffled by many years.
It was the roof, the broken roof, that sung.
The living roofs were silent,
But the dead roof had a tongue!
This poem is in the public domain