Gray House Down the Street

House down the street
The gray one that reeks of feet
With crooked fireplace
Fence looks made with such haste

From the rotting floor
To the creaking door
Furniture too formal
This house is not normal

No one comes or leaves
Visits or flees
I bet there's no owner
No maid, gardener, or mower

The windows covered in a crack
Ivy over takes the back
Thorns and blood red rose
Aline the stairs with the rusted hose

The people can't help but fear
This place that was once held dear
And the tree's branches can't help but mope
For the gray house with no hope

Kimberly Piet © 2008