The paint is peeling, windows cracked, a shutter hangs on tight,

One lost the battle long ago, it lost its will to fight,

The whitewashed fence could use some love, the grass needs cutting too,

It seems there is no life inside, but that just isn’t true.

This house once held a family, but now there’s only one,

A sweet, old, white haired woman waits and hopes someone will come,

She sits in her old rocking chair, recalling days gone by,

She thinks of days when she was young, a tear then fills her eye.

The days grow short, the time flies by, she thinks of heaven more,

The life is being sapped from her, death’s knocking at her door,

But still she waits – anticipates a friendly face or voice,

To break up the monotony which never was her choice.

We’ll all grow…

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