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Old Lakeshore
March 6, 2019
A whittled down door, groaning.
Greenery climbing up the lattice,
a tire swing only hanging by a thread.
The willow tree stands to the side,
Unaffected by the rot that rises around.
A shelter can be found beneath, for it will forever reside.
Secret passageways to the unkempt field.
Misshapen Pumpkins that fall in a symmetrical line.
A copper filled pond resides in the back, holding on to ancient metals.
I have only been here for a brief time.
The time spent is now stored away, in a damp corner,
Apart from the past.
© Paige C., Rutland, MA
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