Take me to the rooms, where the walls can talk
of those stories told of what they've stored
imbedded in their walls, of board and chalk.

Behind their paper flowers faded
cove molding and their nails.
Releasing all the things they've heard for years
telling of all those kept wall tales.

The laughter they heard of children
the crying heard by some.
The songs of Christmas Karol's
within four walls drunk in like a sponge.

Please take me room to room
so I might listen to them all.
Then when we're done with our walk
let's go hear what they're saying down the hall.

Linda Winchell

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-the-walls-can-talk/