User Review( votes)
written by: Brandi Easterling Collins
Cobblestones near the wood-stove
Were often houses and roads
For the sisters’ matchbox cars
During stormy summer nights
When their game was make-believe.
They made elevators of
Sheets for stuffed dogs and dolls on
Stairs where little sister’s head
Got caught in the banisters.
Momma’s butter stopped her tears.
The circle driveway became
Never ending when their bikes
Were not locked in the garage.
Traffic accidents ended
Then with only bleeding knees.
Three sisters help pack boxes.
They can’t pack the cobblestones,
Or the staircase where they played.
But nothing is forgotten,
Because all homes have old dreams.