Powder Keg

To see one is rare but to buy one is obscene. A tall snob. She casts frowns from under her gables. He, the new owner, is in the cellar to clean Dusting and throwing out boxes without labels. Can a house resent an owner from the new school? Can its wood sigh with grief from the change to a room? Can it scream from lapse to architectural rule? This old Victorian's doors were opened to doom! The previous owner, whom everyone called Fred, Had a grudge against dogs that walked on his lawn. He'd shoot his rifle peppering the dogs' butts red. But Fred is dead. The Daisy was sold and is gone. However, cheap Fred would keep the bullet casement. Although empty, he'd refill it with black powder. Today the black powder is down in the basement Awaiting its end by the determined router. And the furnace glowing with a deep thermal heat, And with metal grate open to welcome the scrap, The old Victorian felt her heart skip a beat, As gunpowder box was thrown in quick as a snap. Both door and man were blasted outside in a heap Onto a well-kept lawn that was always kept green. Be warned that those old houses have secrets to keep. I know Fred's not gone 'cause that was his curse I'd seen.