This Old House

Could this old house but talk,
Strange tales it were to tell,
Of people who have lived there once,
Their joys, their heavens and their hell,
Of first night lovers or those dead,
Who loved or died there
In some long gone bed,
Their ghosts still haunting this old home,
Empty, abandoned, composed of
Rotting wood and broken stone,
Waiting for the wrecker's ball,
To still the ghosts and end it all.

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2006 Alfred Charasz