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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Have you seen lately, 

the house we used to live in? 

I thought it once was stately,

and rather cleaner back then—


No one lives there anymore—

the front door

is hidden in the growing grass,

the old fountain fell before

the fence and gate in brass—


Vines have stole across

the body of that place—

up, around the pillars’ moss

and through the poor soul’s face.


Are the shadows there upon

that dreadful dereliction

dreaming of scenes long gone?

or wondering now the direction

we travelled out along?


I wish it hadn’t been this way—

But good-bye my friend of old,

I’ll be back some day,

to paint you all a-gold.

Submitted: November 12, 2020

© Copyright 2021 eavent. All rights reserved.

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Very melancholic, although there is something strangely beautiful about these old abandoned places.

Fri, November 13th, 2020 11:29am

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