THE EMPTY HOUSE
Behind a set of pine trees, so big and tall they are,
Where the sun shines through the branches up high.
There is a house, an empty house that’s old and weathered,
Around it are shrubs and a pond that rests for many years.
I can feel there is a story here, one to be told from long ago,
A cabin like home where once lived someone, a family gone now.
Wood so old, cracked and worn as if a hundred years ago,
Made of brick and stone, a chimney where fires for warmth were formed.
I walk the grounds where once walked a lonely man, children were born,
Echoes of a fiddle played in the early evening light, listen to laughter from a time.
The empty house has stood through time, imagine this land and what was going on,
Cobwebs where once life walked around, not a sound, the empty house, alone.