Old Houses

Old Houses

The old, old houses were leaning

at crazy angles to the road.

Here, no women were weaning.

Image  None have the load

of young children here.

Within these walls, all is dead

and gone.  Only tall weeds peer

through ruins, a rat lifts his head

from his busy work, blinks,

scampers, returns whence

he came.  At night a bat winks

his hunter’s eyes and no fence

guards here, where the garbage stinks.

Author: connellykevin

Writer, poet and photographer. Lover of all musical genres, from acoustic to zydeco. Born in Ireland of Scottish descent and proud of both. "I sought a theme and sought for it in vain, I sought it daily for six weeks or so" WB YEATS Many of the themes here presented and to be presented have taken me a lifetime rather than six weeks. Some have taken mere moments to arrive. All are offered freely and it is my hope that you, dear reader, will gain something by browsing here and that I in turn will gain something by presenting these works to you.

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