A beam of royal gold breaks through, the misty and hazy gates of grey. Clearing to majestic blue skies, a house basks in the warming ray.
Perched high above the quiet town, atop a rolling hill of emerald green. The looming structure casts a welcoming presence, of dedicated craftsmanship so impeccably pristine.
Through lusting eyes the natives gaze, and marvel in the homes' aesthetic glow. Still for years a vacant slumber took, place of the final dwelling long ago.
Myth and tale engulf the town with, power equal to a fire captive in the wind. None would dare to dance with fate, or brave what presence might lurk within.
Floorboards creak under a phantom's footstep pace, as silence fills the void of a dark and empty hall. Cobwebs line the ceiling attractively impure, as shadows roam the chambers quietly as pictures on the wall.
Continually as the current of a river flows, so does the quest for a tenant our house will seek. Toilsome the foreign inly journey can become, how lucrative is the lenity of inner peace.
Like star-crossed voyagers lost out at sea, with no course but to betoken of their plight. Few are destined to a sempiternal fate, kindred to a haunted house in the daylight.