Where the weeds have overgrown.

From my boyhood years, I still recall

joyously running through the old back door.

But my joyous shouts, shout no more...

As my sister's sleep in a graveyard floor.

In this old home, where once we lived

the weeds have overgrown.

The swingset's now a rusted thing;

the see-saw sits alone.

Our youth, now seems, like a made-up dream.

Old picture frames display we three

with mom and dad near the backyard tree.

Yet sadly, all that's left

is me.

Author's Note

A man goes back to his abandoned childhood home.

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

The weight of your words rest heavy upon my heart. What an extraordinary piece of work this is!

[Tim]

I thank you.

[Tony]

Very fine work, it is about siblings yes?

[Tim]

Thank you. It's about a man going back to his mother and father's house now abandoned. (their elderly voices).

[Tony]

Oh yes, that makes perfect sense, my only wish is that it was longer! If you have time, I would love a comment on my story I just uploaded tonight. If not, I understand, keep up the good work!

[Tim]

I always try and return the favor. I'll be there when I can.