A soft, red sofa

Placed careful by the fire

May scarcely calm your weary soul

Will never rest the eyes

A deep, dark closet

Filled with fancy things

Can only fill the heart with moths

But never ease the sting

A long, winding staircase

Can lead to many rooms

But all of them are empty

As inviting as a tomb

An old, airy home

Its boards, cracked and gray

Is filled with life and cheerful song

And hides the joy away