a dusty tree lined country road
  its shoulders strewn with violets
  leads to an overgrown yard
  surrounded with lilac bushes.

  weight of many winter snows
  has crushed the old house roof
  toppled the stone chimney                                                          ­                     
  and rusted the locks.

  huge rooms seem even more so
  in their emptiness
  ghostly shapes of frames and shelves
  look etched upon the walls.

  footsteps echo through the house
  generations of voices are silent
  prickly berry bushes cascade among
  sunken cellar walls forming a hedge.

  there is no one to **** out
  nettles or sweep dried leaves
  from the rickety porch
  No one to open sagging shutters.
.
  window frames are cracked
  dusty glass shards have fallen
  into the brittle litter of
  wilted flowers and spent stems.

  as evening fades dust grows cold
  stream water glints through branches
  and night winds toss shingles about
  creaky wicker arm chairs wait.

  soundlessly a cat steps out of the grass
  sleek and lithe with gleaming green eyes
  he blends smoothly back into the dark
  after leaving a mouse on the stoop.