THE OLD HOME

I walk into this empty room.
Such despair, remorse, and gloom.

I move some more into the hall,
and it is bare from wall to wall.

Another room, completely bare -
The children laughed and cried in there.

The kitchen now - There's nothing left
but walls and floor. - I feel bereft.

The bathroom is the fullest room,
but white with fright - impending doom.

The pantry weeps - the cupboards bare.
I can smell - it's in the air - - -

The stairs, they creak and groan with age.
I feel it now - the saddened rage!

The upstairs bedrooms now in sight -
The rooms, I tried to make just right.

They've fallen into disrepair.
We tried to make it better there.

But alas, the time is near -
The home will shed it's final tear.

The wrecking ball, will make it's leap
and smash the home into a heap.

The memories of this old home -
where children lived - the yard they'd roam.

The holidays, so filled with glee,
the happiness - - - escaping me.

The sadder times - There were a few.
This morbid sight will make it new.

One hundred years, and then a score,
it's life has been, but - nevermore.