This House

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 This House - hut-in-the-rain

Clouds are weeping at my door,
puddles tearfully trickle in
moonlight falls, whisper thin.

Shingles chatter on the roof,
winter sends her lonely kiss
restless winds, a soulful hiss.

Tousled twigs caress the windows,
shattered leaves sorrow down
willows writhe, orchids frown.

Shutters sigh outside these walls,
thunder moans in evening gloom
wilted love, she cannot bloom.

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