The lonely cabin

I knocked on the door of the small cottage
the window steamed up I drew a childish picture
faces of children, that when the sun came erased
the drawings and, I thought of childhood.
My brother had lived here, his children refused
gave the cottage to be a gesture of goodwill.
I knocked on the door; it fell in a cloud of dust
the cabin was empty a floorboard creaked in pain
unused being walked on.
I turned to leave, the door arose and blocked my way
I promised the cottage, a man from the village
will come and paint inside and outside I will
move in here with my dog.
The cottage relented, door and window opened
letting in fresh air and sunlight.