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In Passing an Old House

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I pass a house with shattered windows
and tattered boards,
as if growing the more
into old age.
The door is slightly ajar showing
a far time past,
as if welcoming its owner
back and into.
Shrubs of weeds and bushes long
without care
hug the wooden walls,
as if comforting
a dear friend, or elderly man.
Withered trees long due
their destined time
stand strong,
as if solemnly saying,
"We will wait too."
Rain pours down on the strange group of man and nature,
as if washing away
the sadness and loneliness.
Yet, in all of their strangeness,
they are together,
patiently gathering for someone
never
to
return.





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