Late Autumn and a Long Forgotten House
The wind rustles the oh-so-fragile leaves,
A downpour of color, red, orange and brown,
Floats through the crisp air and falls to the ground,
Leaving a little more bare those ancient trees.
The fragile decrepit house creaks at its eaves,
Windows long broken, open to all that surrounds.
In the distance I can hear wild hounds,
Caught on to the scents carried by the breeze.
The warmth of memories is all I have:
The grand staircase and brightly colored walls,
A rope swing swaying in the sunlit garden.
Those days that I long for, that could not last.
How I wish once more to dance in those halls
And swing again like I’d never fallen.