Drifted Deep
Drifted deep in wintry dark
she's in decline, as useless
as a sailboat in a storm.
Once a haven for hikers,
a shelter for stalwarts and strays
'til the mountains gave summons;
now forlorn and disregarded,
like a maiden aunt too old and to no purpose,
though winsome in her former days
when she was quite the prize,
the belle of every ball, envied by all.
"If those walls could only speak!" they say,
as they quickly pass on by,
not giving her a second glance.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2009
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