The Old House : Narrative Poetry

The old house on the hill is silent and still

 and weeds had overtaken the place .

The old man inside got sick and died

and his family never once  showed their face . 

 I'm sure in the past that house heard some laughs

with children in the garden having fun , 

 but those days are all gone like the manicured lawn

that's been killed by a scorching sun .  

Isn't it a shame only ruins remain of this beautiful house on the hill .

Nobody cares to carry out repairs

 because there's no one left to pay the bill    .

Empty and cold abandoned and old

it will one day fall in a heap to the ground,

 It seems so unfair among the ruins there ,

no sign of a past life can be found .

Like an unwanted thing that could no longer cling

to hope at the end of a rope  .

 Life must go on ,though a lifestyle has gone ,

whispers the old master of time who spoke .  

By Paul McCann