The House On Bleak Street
On a dead-end street,
At the edge of town;
Sat a broken-down house,
With no other around.
The paint was all faded,
And the windows were cracked.
The rain had poured in,
From the shingles it lacked.
The steps had collapsed,
And the grass overgrown.
When the wind would whip,
You'd hear it's sad moan.
For many long years,
It stood vacant of life.
But in the beginning,
Dwelled husband and wife.
She tended the garden,
While he worked the mines.
Was a quaint little home,
That was surrounded by pines.
When Spring rolled around,
A child was born.
A bouncing baby boy,
With hair of silked corn.
On the following year,
The pair was then blessed;
With a darling sweet girl,
That completed the nest.
Now a family of four,
Their paths had been set;
On a bright shining future,
That none could regret.
It all seemed so perfect,
In this warm cozy den.
The envy of their peers,
Soon fate would step in.
On a chilly Winter day,
Playing hide-and-seek.
Boy fell through the ice,
While crossing the creek.
Several months went by,
But still grieving his death,
Their daughter fell ill;
And drew her last breath.
Thus unable to fathom,
That harsh and cruel fact.
The heartbroken parents,
Made a suicide pact.
In this tragic domain,
They'd no longer reside.
While clutched hand-in-hand,
They hung side-by-side.
Down this cold empty road,
Where no one dare braves.
In the dismal backyard,
Lies four crumbling graves.
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