Each room
In this dilapidated home
Has a story to tell –
Its faded walls,
With paint peeling off,
Were once adorned,
With letters, numbers
And stick figure art,
All of which,
Came to life,
Every now and then,
In the throes,
Of windless summer nights,
Playing with the shadows,
Cast by tiny fingers,
Against the backdrop,
Of flickering candlelight.

So too, every window,
In this once long ago home,
They each have captured
In their broken frames
Tales from the yester years,
When they portrayed the charm,
Of out worldly artwork
As it appeared,
To the little pair
Of curious eyes,
Ever desperate to explore,
Beyond the confines
Of the little home.

The front and back yards,
Were like palace grounds,
Changing colour,
And contour,
To transform,
From the mundane
To the sublime,
A perpetual source
Of beauty and bounty
Enough to evoke
Wide eyed wonder
In the tiny beholder.

Decades later,
There is no place
To go back to,
The cherished home,
With its walls and windows,
And stately grounds,
Is all but gone,
Decaying before
The weary eyes
Of the life sore
Beholder.

Image Credit: Photo by Imtiaz Hossain Emu on StockSnap