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Poem

A deserted old house stood off the county road a little way.
To keep apace of living I rushed by it almost every day.
For years I'd wanted to visit there to see what secrets it held,
And perhaps find out about the folks who in it had once dwelled.

Towering oaks stood erectly as if to guard the old place.
Clinging vines held weathered clapboards in precarious embrace.
I mused as I opened the latch on the sagging garden gate,
"Why was it forsaken and left in such a forlorn state?"

Floors squeaked and mice skittered as I sauntered down the hall.
Abruptly, something caught my eye on the faded papered wall.
'Twas a grim, unsmiling portrait of a Victorian family of eight.
I wondered who they were and I pondered about their fate.

Off the hall was the parlor where stood a brick-lined fireplace.
I could fancy the cheery flames glowing upon each happy face,
As they celebrated gala affairs or gathered for family prayers.
Alas, the old folks passed on - their children seeking other affairs.

What had been a vibrant, loving home was now a house in shambles,
Almost overtaken by massive oaks, shrubs and tangled brambles.
But my downcast mood was uplifted despite the engulfing gloom,
As I saw roses planted so very long ago now in magnificent bloom!

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