Abandonment

There sits a house upon a hill.

All is quiet; all is still.

With grasses grown and gardens dry,

Wildflowers kiss the sky.

 

Rusted swing on a deadwood tree,

Sun-stained laundry flying free.

A picket fence, a junkyard car,

A well-worn driveway made of tar.

 

Shattered glass and a broken door,

No one lives there anymore.

Days and nights have since been spent;

The house knows true abandonment.