Dust particles dance in the piercing light
And silence echoes in the hall
The old portrait has a story to tell
Of a love affair that started here in fall.

The grandfather clock doesn’t chime anymore
But the chest of drawers holds photographs
Of him. Of her. Of them together.
Ghosts of memories sing here and clap.

Infested curtains watch the moon wane and wax
The old portrait waits for someone to listen
The chandelier’s charm has worn away
And this is where the story begins…

On the dining table met two people
At a party thrown by an elderly couple
It was at a time when the dust hadn’t settled
And the grandfather clock had struck eleven

Curtains leapt apart to let the moonlight in
And in the glow their eyes did meet
Oblivious to the clutter of the forks and knives
He asked her to dance and she was up on her feet

The piano remembers the night well too
Music flowed from it just for those two
When the melody and the dance did end
He looked deep into her eyes so blue

The portrait witnessed the silence and even heard
The poetry that echoed with their heart beat
Then the door watched them hold hands
And disappear down the cobbled street.

Years and years later all of them
Still remember that night vividly
And it is a custom for every night to end
With the old portrait reciting history.


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