Magic in a smile
Lingers like faint, fairy dust
A fragrance divine.

Cling to that icy branch
Bluebird, for it is real
And not dreamt.  All is cold
And gone is your family.
The world will not repent.

The heart of this old house
Is heard in the tick-tock
Of the mantle clock, as
The faucet weeps feelings
That flood forgotten years
In drips of a hearth's tears