Oland

I walked upon the road Towards an old house on a hill The gate was rusted, broken Its hinges creaked in the summer wind The path was filled with flowers and wild grass The house looked empty, shuddered up in fear I walked up this path of broken dreams To peer into the windows They were shattered, sagging, and tattered This house on a hill, called to me Come see all that used to be And I could not resist this calling Of what may have become of me A Lady in white, sat upon an ottoman chair Her Swedish braids, her smile, in her den and lair She opened her finger, and in silence said come in She offered up a Smörgåsbord of dreams unfulfilled Her smile was filled with shattered dreams For the house was soulless an empty She lived in the past, a mere ghost of the moment As she rose up from her chair, and kissed the night I touched her cheek, softly, in the candle light She was cold, skeletons and bone She sang a song, of joy and passions told She weaved about, in a seductive fashion She was a ghost of long lost love I closed my eyes In this old house Melancholy memories floating away Full of regrets, in a midnight sun She sang her last song............ Our last summer