Whispers Across Time
In the quiet corners of an old house,
Whispers echo, soft and low—
A tapestry of tales untold,
From mother to daughter, young and old.
A mother's voice, stern yet kind,
Speaks of wisdom hard-earned and fine.
Her words a lighthouse in stormy weather,
Guiding the daughter, tethered by an invisible feather.
The daughter, with fire in her eyes,
Challenges the winds, questions the whys.
Her dreams like wildflowers, untamed and free,
Clash with the legacy she's bound to be.
Through the halls, a grandmother watches all,
Her eyes like mirrors reflecting the familial squall.
She holds the threads of their fates in her hands,
A silent sentinel who understands.
And in her arms, a grandchild sleeps,
Oblivious to the secrets that the old house keeps.
In her innocence, the future rests,
A new chapter in this nest of nests.
But the ties that bind can also fray,
As each generation finds its own way.
Yet, love weaves through their shared bloodline,
A delicate strength, enduring and fine.
So, listen closely to the whispers light,
Of a family both torn and thrown, yet holding tight.
For in their story, we find our own,
In the bonds of family, forever sown.