There's a cabin on a hillside
Scattered leaves upon its floor
No curtains for its windows
No hinges for its door

A fireplace made of broken stones
Lined the outer wall
Outside becomes the inside
Painted by the Fall

A table in the corner
Where homemade bread would sit
A broken chair with wounded legs
Its binding, worn and split

Behind the cabin's hollow shell
A cross that marks the past
A tiny grave, that's filled with love
A daughter who had passed

This cabin tells a story
With hidden imagery
Filled with ghosts of yesterday
For all who want to see