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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