The Rug laid down its life.

The cord became a strand that strand now fiber… lays
To speak upon the weight and strain of all its days.

Once part of a pattern in a rug that dressed it’s room ,
it now lays barley visible and knows from weight, it’s doomed .

The things of life have crushed it.
The nap it can not rise
it now just lays in wait
For it’s ultimate demise.

It still serves some purpose ,
To warm the floor below
But that too was splintered
From likened weight I know.

The color of the rug, is faded from the past and speaks to me in volume that it’s time just can not last.

Oh its been walked upon,
And life has left it’s stain
And now all that is left is to ask should it remain ?

Lest it be given cleaner or vacuumed torn apart. Let’s just admire it, for it did give it’s heart.

Oh I know that there are those of you who read between the lines but really folks it’s ok it’s really doing fine.

An interesting analogy, as I
View surrounding floor,
I really did protect it though I could have done much more . The wooden floor around me lays …
lighten now, by sun’s harsh rays
yet under me still lies….
a varnished life that cries.

By Meredith J Weir
Nov 19 th 2014 (8:30 a.m.)
All rights reserved .

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