The Mill Town House

Grandfather's house, knocked to the ground - to dust: The windows wept when the bulldozer came Timeworn and dirty and wheezing black smoke, Just like the drab mills where grandfather moiled. Children play in the intriguing debris Where, once, children played on the garden path, Where grandfather told stories of past things And the children listened wide eyed, in awe. The door remains standing, creaking, ajar, As it yawns in the twilight of the gloom And the children knock though no one answers So, they run away for, why should they stay? Abandoned now, no one, near here, comes by Except myself in the patience of night As I tap on the door, though softly now, Grandfather answers and dolefully smiles.