Candle's flame flickers,
silver & crystal shine,
close my eyes,
run hand along deep-set windowsill,
imagine Washington, Jefferson, Madison,
Adams, Monroe doing the same.
Spy moon drowsing
upon tree's heavy limb,
shedding light this dark night,
not a star in sight,
yet an old friend, suspended, arms uplifted,
winks back through square panes of glass.
Wonder if room eight's
watches us toast to love;
for time we've been blessed.
tragically hers ran out.
Past resides here,
to those who feel them;
content with endings happy,
Yet Future nestles here as well;
creaking, groaning floorboards
record through dawn and dark
every chair leg that slides back,
every napkin dropped upon empty plate;
marvel we're part of the narrative
witnessed within these red brick walls.
by Margaret Bednar, November 18, 2015
A poem reflection on my dining at a historic tavern in Alexandria, VA. (just outside of Washington D.C.) I also just got back from a trip to NYC - specifically Brooklyn to visit my son.
This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Tuesday Platform"
The tavern in Alexandria, VA was built around 1785, and the City Hotel in 1792. John Gadsby leased the property from 1796-1808 and it is his name that is today attached to this historic location. More info on Wikipedia
HERE is the link to what I copied & pasted below (and there are a few photos).