A Found Poem by Beverly Stock
A very old woman
Lived in a brick house.
The squeak of the cricket,
The stir of the mouse,
Were all she knew
Of the earth and us.
Once, when young,
She would dance and play,
Like every other
Child on holiday
Then run to her mother,
At dusk of day.
But age apace*
Comes at last to all;
And her house now filled
With the cricket’s call;
And a scampering mouse,
In a hollow wall.
*apace -swiftly
My “Found” poem is a slightly altered version of Walter De La Mare’s, “Alone,” in the public domain. Trompe l’oeil Image; Artist unidentified.