My Legacy Creaks in the Rafters

What will be left
of this old house
when I am gone?

Certainly,
the walls will stand
all four

But will they glow yellow
a comfy embrace,
a steady cheer?

Certainly,
the roof will remain
gray and pitched

But will it protect
both from big bad wolves
and a world that lies?

Certainly,
the floor will sit
wooden planks

But will it creak
under the feet
of dancing?

Certainly,
the door will hang
open and closed

But will it be a
bulwark during a siege
and an entryway to respite?

My legacy
creaks in the rafters
and echos in the voices of my children