That Old House

A poem about growing old in an ever-changing world.

That old thatch-roofed house,
Overtaken by creeping ivy,
And thick red climbing roses.

That perfectly tended fruit garden,
Now seized by violet wildflowers.

That long straight brick pathway
Once flawless red now replaced
By a carpet of weeds.

The neighborhood kids gossip
About the old witch lady
that once lived in that house.

With no more friends,
She tried so hard
To maintain her home.
To preserve her memories.

But all things come and go.

That old house,
Now abandoned,
Another victim of time.