The house of moan sits all alone
atop a khaki knoll;
white wooded strain of window pane,
portraying painful role.
A black smoke rise ‘neath cold gray skies--
in breeze the smoke is bent;
and down below it seems as though
the house of moan is spent.
It’s plain to see the agony,
such structure under stress;
a wail and sigh as time goes by,
glum grimace, more or less.
The house appears to have those fears
like that of Psycho vein;
like Norman Bates it sits and waits,
a haunt of heave and pain.
The house of moan appears to groan
beneath a winter sky;
it twists its walls, yet still it calls
to all who pass it by.
[Rhythm: 8-6-8-6] (Lines: 20)
PAD August 6, 2012
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