This Old House

THIS OLD HOUSE The house is old, but still it stands among the golden hills; silent and unknown, a symbol of the past. Once it was a happy home, full of joy and warmth, now no laughter rings within, no fire is aglow. Its boards lie rotting, paint fading, peeling and the grasses grown tall obliterating it from view. The babbling brook that ran beside it, now lies unmoving; the once sturdy footbridge barely stands; unsafe, impassable. The house is old, but still it stands among The golden hills; all its thrills forgotten And all its glory gone. by: Diane L. Bohner