All that remains of a 1920s house
Are two tall chimneys with their empty fire places
Smokeless, empty and grey
Like cold, long winter faces
And they look across the empty grass
No doors, no carpet, no stucco pealing,
No curtains to cover long gone window glass.
No tender hearts, no love, no saying,
No sound of sweet laughter
No little children playing.
The roof is gone and the garden too
And the red brick chimneys reach into the blue
As though they beckon to heaven above;
The last distant echoes of a house that had love.
Image source: Sarah Nicholls
Inalienable Write 
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