I remember as a child that the house was occupied by a large, happy family.
Now it stands alone, deserted and slowly falling down.
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Crumbling bricks and windows blank,
a roof sagging beneath the years,
your chimneys reach to Heaven in prayer
but who's to heed your tears?
Hallways dank with musty mould
and fires dead in the grate,
the rotting lino lifts and curls
and death watch seals your fate.
Spider webs sway in rags
dead, dusty, damp and grey
and in through the sadly riven door
careless ivy threads its way.
No warmth remains, no cheery smiles
no family in this dark,
just empty rooms where silent echoes
etch their craven mark.
Crouching alone, forgotten and sad
abandoned to your fate,
yet on a spring day, once in a while
there are people at your gate.
When snowdrops bloom with nodding heads
and aconites shine close by
your wilderness garden comes alive
and the children pick and cry.
Cattle low and blackbirds sing
and the people walk on by
but a child's laughter warmed your heart
and as that laughter fades you sigh.
Down deep, oh so very deep
in your memory they yet dwell
the many who loved and called you home
until finally they bade farewell.
Crumbling bricks and windows blank
a roof sagging beneath the years,
your chimneys reached to heaven in prayer
and today God saw your tears.
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YOU ARE READING
WOOD POETRY
PoetryA collection of poetry inspired by a life in an English wood. Meet the animals and birds. Experience the seasons. Enjoy the sunshine, the rain, the mist and the snow.
