Frank E Gibbard Posted May 29, 2012 Share Posted May 29, 2012 The house that stood on the hill Had a weirdness once, and still; That sort of inheritance history Overlays on the past by every Year which passes on and by, Accumulating secrets as weeds Infiltrate and penetrate, so sly, Privy only to that unknown story Residences hide in every wall And sinew. We the passers-by Wonder as we wander by, why Her owners left the property lie, Winding up overgrown and alone. Theories, rumours only to explain The doubts which will still remain. Wisteria and mystery grow over Its door and window sills pêle-mêle, Past, house entwine and never tell. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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