The house in which I built my life,
Rose brick by brick both high and wide,
Stretching out to distant lands,
Reaching out to meet the sky.
When I was young I needed space:
A spot for peace where I could dream,
A place where I might simply be
A place for songs of happiness,
A room where I might find some rest.
The rooms were built of many things,
Some of mud and some of stone;
Some were painted with my dreams;
Some were papered with my poems.
As I matured, my needs increased;
I built upon the ground I knew
A place to see my children grow,
A source from which our lives might flow,
A place of love which we could share,
An attic filled with memories,
A chapel too for whispered prayer.
While working hard to make my way,
Each room would glow with different lights,
Some were dim and some were bright,
Yet each I knew was part of me.
Through well lit corridors I strolled
Meeting all who came my way,
The rich, the poor, the kind, the cruel;
Some were wise and some were fools.
The house was built for different times
With stairs to reach those lofty heights
Where I could see, through windows huge,
The stars inside of Heaven’s arc.
Old age has left me as I am;
The stairs are now too hard to climb,
The distant rooms beyond my strength;
The end I sought beyond my time.
The doors are closing one by one
Forming shadows as they swing
Across the thresholds of my life,
Quieting the songs I sing.
Is there a future for my house
Amid the world’s incessant woes?
Will I learn when day is done,
If Mr. Death’s a friend or foe?
- Finding the Light of G‑d, pages 96-97