Elfreth’s Alley

Red brick whispers old tales told,


shutters blink as breezes scold.


Flower boxes spill and climb,


petals grasping against their time.

Bows on lampposts, wreaths on doors,


winter waits while autumn soars.


The holidays call, though leaves still stay,


clinging tight to yesterday.

Cobblestones echo steps gone by,


shadows flicker, questions fly.


Cellar doors with secrets slept —


what treasures and what trials have they kept?

At 123, a lion bold —


Scotland’s pride in crimson gold.


A banner fierce, defying past,


a claim of roots that still hold fast.

And still, behind these walls we see —


laughter, dinners, soft and free.


The hum of life both bright and small,


a heartbeat pulsing through it all.