Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
The Ghost House The village folk say her owner was a grumpy old man, He would curse at children playing in front of his beautiful house Now it sits falling apart, rusty and grotesque. In the corner of SisterBerenice Street there sits a house Her walls cracked and her yard unkept Her windows shattered and her doors battered. Now the children stray further from the house For rumor has it shes haunted By the spirit of the grumpy old man. But she stands lifeless and rotten Giving testimony of death really is, Slowly decaying and being forgotten.
0
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 6:33 AM UTC
The Ghost House
The Ghost House The village folk say her owner was a grumpy old man, He would curse at children playing in front of his beautiful house Now it sits falling apart, rusty and grotesque. In the corner of SisterBerenice Street there sits a house Her walls cracked and her yard unkept Her windows shattered and her doors battered. Now the children stray further from the house For rumor has it shes haunted By the spirit of the grumpy old man. But she stands lifeless and rotten Giving testimony of death really is, Slowly decaying and being forgotten.
Written by
23/M/afrika
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 6:33 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem