The old house which heard my first cry Now stands abandoned, If only it could speak, It would surely ask "why?" The fencing that I made with my grandfather To protect our house from intruding animals is now broken. And it's now a home for all those Who were once completely forbidden. The old house that once echoed with the laughter Now weeps in silence. The roofs that protected us through all the seasons Are now open to them without reason. The garden where enjoyment once danced with the swirling flowers, Lays the debris of jollity in the heap of hay outside the tower. The path that were kept clean and shoved Have now overgrown in absence of my grandmother's behove. The rooms that once gleamed with the smile of people Now only has darkness to fill that steeple. The windows that were used to call us home by the evening, Have become the gates for the past for grieving. The old house is long abandoned But there remain the memories of my childhood that were grand. A rusted merry go round, and swing in the corner, Are all the things that are left for me to be a mourner. The walls of the house have hidden each of our secrets, The pot in which grandma hid money, The small secret box where grandpa hid his cigar, And the place in the backyard where I hid my toys. The edifice may have crumbled a bit, But the pillars held it together in firm. I wish I could make the walls spill, All its secrets grim and yearn. And it would sing me lullabies Of the buried memories, in return.
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