Tall and Proud

Tale of a derelict house

A house once stood so tall and proud.

Its splendour such, it drew a crowd.

They’d stretch their necks to catch a glimpse

of merriment, that’s not known since



When asked, I answer what makes a home.

It stills the need one has to roam.

Of mortar, brick ,wood ,paint and nails

Wrapped tight outside by iron rails



The house I speak of is now a mess,

of twisted metal, and woodworm no less.

Its walls peeled back reveal its bricks,

Alas it’s now too old to fix.



But though it’s old and falling down

I sometimes think I detect a frown

It creaks and groans and seems to say

“I’ll rise again if you come to stay.”