In time I cried

In time I cried long before the door ever opened.

Inside the dust now so thick was the history of us.

It took time to be founded, sorted and shuffled.

But I cried, "Are we just in time or are we too late?."

Without a debate, I cried where is the stove?

Where is the washer, the dryer or the sinks? Brrr, I'm cold.

Where are the heaters that used to warm, down below and above?

Was there nothing more now than leaded rust under all that dust?

For a time I cried and shivered while the stories were written

About a man who wrote a single book, before all the hundreds.

That one book found Disney and Toby Tyler who ran off to the circus.

But I only cried, "Did the dust settle on the new or on the old?"

Suddenly in time I cried no more. They were finally home.

The kitchen had grown its own history and the heat back to warmth.

A story unfolded not knowing that I too loved both the old and the new,

For I am the house who in time cried, "My family has come home."