Treasure Island

Oopsie Woopsie


Just a little poem about a house


A house made out of glass and bricks
That has seen some tricks

A house that has been here for years
This house has witnessed some happiness and some tears

This is house used to be my home,
Used to call it my dome

Now it doesn’t exist anymore
Glass and bricks are swept to the floor

Memories of the past, weren’t meant to last
The only thing that still stands, is the drawing in your hands.

Submitted: Thursday, October 28, 2010

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