Once upon a whispery wind, there were steps, tap tapping on floors polished by endless winters. La la loo, they hummed, as naiads darted behind dusty curtains.
Echoes told tales of moon-pies lurking beneath chairs all once-loved by daughters long gone.
Bubbles of laughter float, silent glee trapped in the void.
Creeky floorboards asked:
Do the kites still fly when skies dream below the sea?Their question, endless, warranted only a yawn from us.
The knight sells flowers beside the door, his registry kept by rivers and tides in dreams tonight.
Books, hope, and galaxies, packed in small trunks lettered with stories — or maybe the stars themselves, etched with wishes.
It's okay to get lost into the corners of yesterday.