Monday, November 20, 2006

The House on the Hill

The House on the Hill
Stood Silent and Still
Waiting for Master
Waiting for Mistress
It patiently waits.
But none return

Day by day it slowly falls apart
Bit by bit destruction and decay take their toil
Rust eats away at the chains that bind its gates
Mildew, like a cancerous growth, slowly consumes its once proud paintwork
A tile falls here, there a window is cracked
Vines embrace it, trees covert it, grass grows through its cracks

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