That house we abandoned last winter—I wondered
How has it turned out to be? A mess of wilderness;
A house overgrown with gloom in full bloom, poisonous hatred,
And creeping vines of thorny lies. Reeking of rotten loneliness,
That house we abandoned last winter sickens and haunts me
With its fireplace: once it burned warm with radiant mirth.
Its wooden floor creaks under my weight; each surface dusty
With failing hope. I can see it—nothing but still dearth.
The house stands at the verge of existence: godforsaken
Like a disowned child, it looks like it could topple any time.
The house stands and sways tiredly, peeking to deep oblivion.
I listen. I hear it silently sings to me lines that hardly rhyme.
Hey, I don’t know if you could even vaguely remember,
But I do miss that house we abandoned last winter.