The Portrait

There was a portrait
Used to hang right here,
A prominent place on the wall,
Of an old man 
His face weathered with years,
His dark eyes saying it all. 
I remember the way 
His eyes seemed to follow

As I solemnly walked past his gaze.
It was like he was there
To watch over me
And protect me the rest of my days.

This old house is coming down.
They say it’s not safe.
I guess that it’s probably true.
There’s no one around,
No one left to remember
When it was all shiny and new.
But a house is just walls,
A roof and a floor
Where you can come in from the cold.
It’s the people who live inside her portrait
Who are worth more than silver and gold.

And I think of that portrait
          Where it hangs today
                    Of my guardian angel with wings.
And it fills me with hope
          And joy beyond measure until
          My heart fairly sings
With the peace of mind that portrait brings.

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