This Old House

Boarded up and left alone

quietly sleeping on the hill

.drafty windows.

.weeping willow.

where I used to be

she’s not so sad to me, no.

she’s not so old to me

 

squeeking doors and scuffed up floors

tattered drapes

torn from their rods

songs and lies down every hall

but still there’s sweetness in this dust

Unfinished Song by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

More of Angie’s Poetry here:

https://theshowtellproject.wordpress.com/category/pieces-of-us/poetry/

4 thoughts on “This Old House

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