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 is 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.

Keith Garrett