Friday, January 28, 2011

Winter Writings: Day 38

Up on the hill
the old house sits lonely
shyly peeking down on the road,
with the vacant stare of broken windows,
like a wallflower on the dance floor of life.
Memories of the past fill the air
with the laughter of children,
the love of a family,
the grief of passing on.
The old boards cradle their dreams,
and wait ...
The driveway gates stand open;
the "for sale" sign beckoning an invitation to passing cars
to break this lonely spell
and bring love and laughter through the door
to fill the air again with the sacred songs of life.

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