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A Place Once called Home
The cottage stands there all alone,
Gardens forgotten … overgrown
With weeds trying hard to bury the past
The crumbling foundation, surrendering at last.
Shutters askew.. windows broken … bare
Roof and chimney.. not much left there.
Fragments of glass cover the walk
Poor little bungalow, if you could talk,
Would you tell me how once, you were somebody’s dream?
Would you tell me of happier days you have seen?
Walls that in bygone days stood ... straight and tall
Echo now with voices... not there at all.
Once young and proud.. eager to taste
All that life offers .. let naught go to waste
Now old, and empty .. left standing alone
Abandoned … forgotten .. a place once called Home.
©Sharon Langan
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