The grass has grown and covered the doors,
it has even crept through the cracked, wooden floors.
The dusty, broken window panes
Can no longer keep out the winds and rains.
The curtains shabby, moth-eaten and old,
Their worn texture, no obstruction to the cold.
The ceiling's plaster has yellowed and cracked,
And bits have fallen to the floors of the old shack.
The paint on the walls has rolled away,
Oh, so sad, such disarray.
The stairs all rotted, unsafe to tread,
Once took you to the rooms on the floors overhead.
This lonely house once held fine ladies and men in tall hats;
Now it only has rats and spiders, big and small bats.
It's the carcass of what once used to be,
A house that stood in splendor and majesty.
Excerpt from My Restoration
© J. Shannell Evans 1994