Ghosts of Yesterday
There's a cabin on a hillside
Scattered leaves upon its floor
No curtains for its windows
No hinges for its door
A fireplace made of broken stones
Lined the outer wall
Outside becomes the inside
Painted by the Fall
A table in the corner
Where homemade bread would sit
A broken chair with wounded legs
Its binding, worn and split
Behind the cabin's hollow shell
A cross that marks the past
A tiny grave, that's filled with love
A daughter who had passed
This cabin tells a story
With hidden imagery
Filled with ghosts of yesterday
For all who want to see
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