Dark house, cracking glory in the cool dusky hours of Fall.
Green wooden shutters bend their intended horizon
Looking sleepy and forgotten.
Once climbing tendrils have reached their potential
Stuck in a growing limbo
Crying for some place to grow.
Covered in crumbling history and stolen light.
They were so happy
Embraced with spicy wooden beams and Christmas trees.
Time has prevented their return.
And tightlipped I, alone as sole witness,
To the majestic yesterday and foreboding present
Watch the future get buried.