House On Henley Street
Remembering a visit to Shakespeare's 'Birthplace'.
I closed my eyes and wished him there.
My fingers traced the bricks and slate,
Exploring textures rough and smooth:
The wooden beams, the open grate.
I stepped on creaking floors he’d walked,
And climbed the narrow flight of stairs.
I stopped by windows where he’d stood,
And patted tables, beds and chairs.
The building held his tears and joys.
He seemed so close I hoped we’d meet.
I felt him etched upon the place:
He’d loved the house on Henley Street.
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