What happens to houses when they are neglected?
High on the hill in the wind and the rain
Watched by the leaves of the ancient oak tree,
Stands an old house ravaged and worn
Forgotten by its long flown family.
Dusty attics tell of a lifetime
Spent in the walls of the rambling homestead.
Spiders scuttle between rows of boxes
Which hold the tale of the life that it’s led.
Lift up the lid of the box in the corner.
Dresses so yellow, so fragile to touch.
Who once had worn them to great balls in winter?
Which gallant young men had admired them so much?
The creak of a rocking horse breaks through the silence.
How many children have ridden its back?
Much loved and used toys spill over the floorboards
Musty old books fall from moth eaten sacks.
There’s no longer a mother to tend to her young ones
No father working hard to provide for them all
There’s no longer the laughter of children long grown
Just debris and dust and crumbling walls.
As Poetic Enigma rightly pointed out, very vivid. I felt sad when I read -There’s no longer the laughter of children long grown. But that is life 
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