The Old House

How sad is the house across the street, With its dirty windows and
crumbling paint.
The trees and bushes and flowers are dead.
The garden  yearns to bloom the house wants to shine instead.
How silent is the house across the street.
Once full of life where friends would meet.
Lost now,the happy chatter of the children And cheery voices of the
men and women.
How still is the house across the street.
Just an old lady waiting for death to meet.
Living in her memories, of what had been, A shadow behind the grime,
hiding, not wanting to be seen.