What Used To Be

On a windswept hillside,
Where the bush encroaches ever near,
Stands a gaunt old ruin of a home,
That was once held very dear.

That garden tells the story,
With its old Jacaranda tree,
The bush lemon near the tankstand,
Roofing fluttering in the breeze.

The laundry tubs out back.
The clothes line falling down.
How lonely the old shack looks
For want of better times.

It needs the love of people
To feel the throb of life.
What a story it could tell
If only it could write.

Alice Berry
©1999

 The remains of an old house.
The old house. Photo - Alice Berry ©

 
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Last update: 26th August, 2003.