There's a giant lot filled with grassy roots,
and flowers dead and gone;
A lonesome tree stands withered,
with its limbs now meek not strong.

It's an eerie place around the bend,
where we used to run and play;
But now the sunlight never shines,
in this hollow world of gray.

I recall the folks who lived there,
for years ago we often came;
To climb upon the hearty tree,
looking out to far off lands.

The house was a museum piece,
a bit crumpled but still standing;
Until a blizzard tore the roof,
and it crashed upon the landing.

I never knew what happened then,
for these folks moved from the city;
And left this ancient 'house of cards',
to rot away without heartfelt pity.

And so the ghost-like yard still stands,
around the corner where we would wander;
My spirit still resides within the gates,
along with memories of days much kinder.