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Below is the poem entitled James which was written by poet Elliot Randall. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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I left a week later, and I saw the old house;
An enfeebled decrepit domicile,
As quiet as a mouse.

The tall oak hung, 
Anemic and fray,
The leaves that it held were withered and grey.

On a branch a rope hung,
Where I would swing when I was young,
A happy place, full of memory,
Was now a saddened place, of saddened imagery.

And the thought of never seeing James again,
Brought me tears, despair and pain.
But the saddest thing of all;
Was knowing it would happen again.

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