There’s a dark room that sits in the house above on Main
An ancient, beat-up street... once was called Old Brewster’s Lane
It’s cold and it’s musty,
Ancient pictures locked inside…
Of children and their dollies…
These children long since died
Now the townspeople say,
Voices scream at night ‘til dawn…
Some claim they’ve seen a vision…
Of a green ‘ole leprechaun
So this house remains vacant,
No families dare to buy
The house on Main/Old Brewster’s Lane
Where people go to die
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem