This House


This House

This House

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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Angie's Diary