The House on the Hill

The House on the Hill

Lonely lives in haunted halls

Flaking, cracked and shattered walls

Warped and worn and dirty floors

Spidered windows and broken doors.

Empty rooms with closets bare

Filled with stagnant fetid air

Cabinets empty, filled with dust

Water gone, pipes filled with rust.

The house sits vacant on the hill

The sounds of life and laughter gone

Lighted by a weakened sun,

It moulders in the Autumn chill.

Once beautiful and filled with joy

The family’s happiness and pride

Stilled when as years had passed

All but the last of family died.

Now as I walk this lonely street

Rememb’ring happy times there shared

Greeting each memory that I meet

Now only the past lives there.

PJB