Decided to write poem instead of a story

In my grandparents home
the smell of sunlight, pleasantly dusty, lingers over sleepy crystals;
prisms that brush bright shards
over white flowers with
the summertime slowness
of our Alaskan butterflies.

The cuckoo clock beats softly,
where else but on the mantelpiece?
As if only to say
not to worry
things will always be this way.

We type feedback links at the end?
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/8iq1nr/hey_you_yeah_you/dytwjym/
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/8ipjgy/hudson_feedback_requested/dytwcgs/