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
till 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 speak!" they say
as they quickly pass on by,
never giving her a second glance.
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