The Window

I see before me a tapestry of gold
Spun in the orient in days of old
It covers the windows of my life
And I see only goodness not strife
The bed where I sit is covered with care
The neatness of another whose life I do share
The floor is all polished and shines like the sun
Barely to walk on it never to run
For old of many years I may be
My eyes my youth still see
And though the door hold me in
With my body frail and thin
In my mind I still wander among the trees
Still feel in my hair the autumn breeze