
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 & 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 thru 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 crispy air. No one heeds the call except A sparrow on the tree top
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