The house sleeps
In mid afternoon sun
While soft winds drift` through
The open windows
Aided by the attic fan we installed a year ago.
Slowly it wakes.
With the sound of frantic baby cries from the cradle,
Stiring the eighteen month old maniac in the next room,
Bringing rumbles from upstairs.
The four year old with an exploded room.
Life returns, the quiet replaced
By the music of children.
But still not complete.
Out of tune
Until your return.