HOUSE ON THE HILL

HOUSE ON THE HILL


This old house is deserted,
No one lives here anymore,
Aging through the seasons,
Rain falling on the floor.

There’s an echo of laughter,
As wind blows down the hall,
A faint image of two lovers,
Just shadows on the wall.

Clouded are the memories
Of this house once so fine,
Built with heart and soul,
Swallowed now by time.

The windows are all broken,
It no longer has a door,
A house too long forsaken,
Slipping into folklore.

3/18/06
Monty