meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Little Houses


the
grey house is
lighter on the outside
but has shadowed rooms deep within

her family has moved on
the
scattered remnants
called memories
still cling

the little grey house
what a
shabby house
house without a key

like many others
crumbling on
the block
clueless
near a precipice
of sea

the brown house the red house
the yellow house and white
all walls skinned thin
windows dirtied and sickly

'tis the season's yearly
blight

lesser saints they are
a lonely community
plagued by
age and time

no harder lessons have
they been taught
loneliness
their crime

the grey house
quivers slightly
falling down with
the other houses

tumbling down
their walks
no more children
no more spouses

isolation
visits them
perniciously
of its jolliest
free will

won't you
air out their rooms and
give them the gift

its more of an improvement
than a prescription
more effective
than a pill

occupy their solitary
doorsteps
stay long enough until
the kettle boils
for tea

what simple joy
a little company
and laughter
for little houses
when their rooms are noisy
and the seasonal sadness
is dispelled.


Copyright December 28, 2012
All Rights Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells/Tilt-a-World





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