In the neighborhood was a man
A little weird kids could not understand
All day he stayed in his house
Inside it was quiet as a mouse
Often our balls from the vacant lot
Would fly over the fence and disappear
Only days later to reappear
The days we did see him he was in his garden
With him his dog would growl a guardian
One day he died the house never up for sale
Inside a haunted house the kids would hear him wale
Houses soon surrounded the field we played the vacant lot
But nothing in his home or that could be bought.
For the rest of the story: One day older, I visited
the old homestead.A young woman was in the front yard
I said, "I see you bought the bachelors house. I heard
that it was haunted." And she said, "It was my Uncle's
house. This and the lot across the street. He left in
his will no one could buy the lot as long as kids played
in it. We are starting the playground tomorrow. You see,
in his younger days there was an accident. His wife and
sons died in that accident. The house was silent because
he watched us at play. He lived in mourning never to marry
again. The garden he yelled at us for trampling to get our
balls was in memory of his wife and kids. He always returned
the balls sometimes new. That's the rest of the story to the poem
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