A hidden cottage, a hidden secret,
Long forgotten, much conceited.
For many a year, spiders and snakes called it home,
Nestled, snuggled in the looming trees.
Weathering taking its toll.
Chipped paint, shattered windows, leaky roof,
Decades of seasons it has survived.
A hidden secret pours out of its cracks,
One only the trees, birds, and grass will know.
Long ago, an image of hope, inspiration, love.
But know danger, betrayal, depression, loneliness.
The rain pours down, like tears from its windows,
seeping from its broken heart.
The floorboards creak, scream in agony.
Wooden, dusty doors slam in anger.
The tempestuous wind sends shingles flying, as the shattered glass racks with sobs.
Oh! How it aches for a glowing candle, a heavenly meal, its odor wafting to the living room.
A hot log in the fireplace, children playing on the rug.
The memories only anger it more.
Dust swirls and coughs and splutters.
Ancient cob-webby furniture smacks the tired walls. Slapping, Abusing.
But as the bird chirps, sings, the leaves flutter, the stream trickles, the flowers bloom, dawn breaks.
And with it comes a promise. A promise of hope.
Hope for tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. Forever.
And dreams. An inspiring dream to be loved, wanted, and needed again. Protecting.
And the little cottage sighed contentedly, dust clouding.
The windows lit up, the sagging wood porch smiled.
The squeaky swing swung on its rusty chain.
The clogged gutters strained to be aligned.
And the weary cottage anticipated.
And patiently waited for its new lovers.