Moss covers the cobblestone
A rusty gate half open
All is quiet in the garden
Except for the cricket chirping
The courtyard is strewn with leaves
No one has entered the gate
Except curious onlookers
Wondering about its past history
Weeds have over-grown
The flower beds
Where are the roses and
The gardener’s caring hands?
Tall trees are growing wild
Providing a perfect shade
Behind the windows and doors
Lie only sad memories
Where are the children
Playing on swings?
Where is their laughter
Under the clear blue sky?
Where is the sweet melody
Flowing from her fingers?
Where is the baby grand?
Where are the adoring friends?
The stove is now cold and rusty
No one has prepared evening meals
The kitchen smells of dusty mold
Long gone is the aroma of baking
The sky remains bright and calm
Looking down with pity.
Who stole their dreams and joy?
But their own greed and folly?
I can still hear the angry voices
And see their angry faces
Even when the boughs are blooming
And the willows dancing in the wind
Is each household a tragedy?
Why can’t they live in harmony
Before parting tears and
Separation by death?
Gone are the signs of life
Time has no respect of persons
Leaving behind dust and bones
Without living memories
The sun used to stream through
The window panes
To awaken sleepy eyes
And start another busy day
But now there is no morn
And no eventide
The house neither wakes up
Nor slumbers at night
The seasons change
Unhurried and unchanged
The snow melts away in silence
Giving in to spring’s awakening
The hot summer sun fills the air
With its overbearing heat and light
But it too beats a hasty retreat
When autumn arrives solemnly
So round and round
The years go by
And everything in the mansion
Has gown old and dead
The bell from a distant chapel
Peels through the crisp air
No one heeds the call except
A sparrow on the tree top
