My Undercroft Dreams

My arms reach out with all my ravenous desire
to hold the secrets of my master and his mistress,
which is why my skin of brick has no ornaments
that might distract me from watching over
all the treasured trophies laid within my space.

At night I hear the soft murmurs of voices
call from every item placed in my charge
of tales about usefulness and purpose
about the passion to serve,
but now they rest in my arms
where I keep them free from harm.

Oh my heart is heavy from this vigil in silence,
yet do find joy in my duties
even if am so modestly dressed
without the elegance or grandeur
reserved for my kinsmen
who are bless to serve
as the more regal trappings of our masters abode.

Though I don’t enjoy opulence,
the luxuriant layers shared by others
in this realm where I must thrive
my hospitality and love for those who come
always makes their visits full of pleasure.

So I am plain in my appearance
no fashions to make me beautiful
I take solace in my calling
ever content to welcome all
into the center of my heart.

And when winter comes to my popularity,
left feeling neglected and unappreciated,
eventually my admirers come.
They will commune with those I have befriended
sometimes taking them elsewhere
as I try to be happy they are being useful
while weeping at night over their absence.
It is the burden of caring
the pain of being a friend to many without homes
for a while I gave them shelter,
how it is all I have in my thoughts
the moment I’m abandoned again.