Everyday I see them,
Running up and down.
Mother first,
At the break of dawn,
Pink Slippers flopping as walks.

Children next,
Scrambling down, one after another.
I feel the light, teetering steps
Growing heavier each day.
Soon,
The pitter-patter of each gentle step
Turns into a bounding stomp.

One day, there is one less child.
And another, there are no more.
The house has become quieter.
No more jumping from a higher step, nor sliding down my railing.
There is no more running, with creaking now non-existant.

Every morning now,
I feel the slow shuffling steps
Become slower and slower.
No longer am I awakened at dawn.

Each day the slow, careful steps
Come later and later,
Until finally,
One day,
No one comes down.
The houes, finally, has become silent.

 
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