I Know Some Lonely House

by MYRYN VILLAFLOR

Over the rigid and dreary mountains,
down by the riverside, amidst withered stalks
of stalwart weeds, and murmuring leaves
of pallid colors piled on the ground,
stood a solitary, large carriage house,
forlorn, beneath the balding glabrous
spreading tree, as though,
shrouded in mystery.

Devoid of noise, of neighbors,
and of life; here, the sun
no longer rises.

And so, bleak are the nights,
boundless and bare,
but what tales, the moon can tell,
this rickety house cannot,
apart from the rude winter wind’s wild
lament and a worn-out,
passive photograph.

I know some lonely house down by the riverside
where one too many lonely souls used to
reside.