House Of Empty Dream's Poem by James McLain

I filled every room that you ask,
Even the one without drapes.
Outside looking in one would think,
Nothing is left here but dream's.

Here where in love that we lived,
Song's about love we would sing.
Your closet was full snug and warm,
Where nothing inside you would hide.

Such does all love find it's own end,
When one in love goes away or dies.
Green field's once seen far and wide,
Are now filled with nothing but weed's