The House of the Hanged Man

Abandoned house isolated with cracked walls Aberration emerging forth from the natural terrain Red and black roofs of the village nearby almost seeming a beacon of civilisation The wood boarded lower rotting windows and barred doors Faded moth eaten curtains a cynical beauty of zephyred gossamer The time long years doing their gentle but remorseless work Inside the house light denied world now given to insects and rodents Left to do nothing but eat and all gone now consume just themselves Wintertime wind whistles and rain seeps in through gaps Kept once a garden dissembling now in its own fertility Nature kindly putting forth hated nettles burrs and docks By lack of care a garden that is there now seeming to wildness What now is there left of a man what was there ever But everything unnatural now reduced to its former glory Outside the lovely wild garden flowers The reds of Foxglove Ragged Robin and sweet Herb-Robert Bright suns yellow the Lesser Celandine and Creeping Buttercup Butterflies alighting on blue Willow Gentian and Large Venus Looking Glass