Tuesday, March 27, 2007


The pale full moon was sinking very low
As the weary traveller halted with a sigh,
He gazed on the old home he used to know
That stood silhouetted 'gainst the starry sky.

No barking watch dog met him at the gate
With wagging tail to show it's keen delight,
He knew too well he'd tarried far too late,
For there was none to welcome him tonight.

The old house stood deserted and forlorn,
The winds played hide and seek around the eaves;
A shutter lay by wind from hinges torn,
And all around tall grass and fallen leaves.

He heard no eager footsteps in the hall,
No loving voice to bid him welcome home,
There was none there to answer at his call,
The old house was as silent as a tomb.

The echo of his footsteps like a knell
Resounded as he climbed the musty stair
And entering every room he knew so well
Was met by haunting memories lurking there.

Thick dust lay on the mantel where the clock
Had stood for years and ticked the hours away,
But now this silence only seemed to mock
These mem'ries of the past when life was gay.

Then out into the night he turned once more
And gazed on the old homestead so forlorn,
Moonbeams and shadows played around the door
Where he once played, and where high hopes were born.

January, 1947

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