The Old Cottage

An experiment with personification

The old cottage creaks,
Her timbers stressed
By the weight of her skin,
And the winter layers
Pressed upon her.

I hear her moaning,
Her cries protesting
The mounting snow
Upon her back.

They say she is settling
In for a long winters night
But I am anything
But settled by the
Compression of her bones.

Up to the roof I go,
With shovel and hope
And knees shaking with fear
To relieve her pressing load.

As I clear, I can hear
The sighs of relief
As the weight is shed
From her aching spine
And sagging eves.

And so tonight I sleep
Comforted by her peace
For she will stand another day
Now pressure’s relieved.