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.