Poetry - The House

The House

It watches me from its hilltop,
Through the night sky I feel
the House's sorrow, its abandonment
and its neglect.

I gaze up at the abode,
once fit for a King, now only vermin
live behind its filthy brickwork.

A shadow glides behind a second floor window
and on the wind a soft singing is carried to my ears.
The Sombre melody stirs my emotions
like the grass stirring in the breeze.

I watch the shadow move past other windows
into other rooms. There is an elegance
about this being that shouldn't exist.
I turn my back on the house
like so many others before me.