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.