LutherSeahand

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.