The house I moved into in Lima, Peru
Is not rather old nor is hardly that new.
The floors are of concrete, the walls made of brick,
New wall-to-wall windows that close with a click.
Yet still I hear sounds like an old wooden floor
When I rise from my bed and I head toward the door
of the bathroom to assure me that nothing is leaking.
I realize then ’tis my knees that are creaking.