The Old House

The old house sits sad and alone,
Remembering days it was a home,
Now it cracks and leans and creaks,
And frowns at the rain when it leaks.

In every breeze it moans and groans,
Chilled to its rickety timber bones,
It cannot withstand another storm,
An old wreck it will form.

The empty eyes are mourning,
Each forgotten, pleasant morning,
The old house was a home,
But now it sits sad and alone.