Dr. Pattie Pendry
If Houses Could Talk
I am worn and tattered
My paint is chipping away.
My boards are beginning to squeak
There aren't any children around to play. The grass outside is very tall
The weeds are plentiful too.
There is no one to cut the grass
Or show interest in what I do. I am a house sitting on a hill
My color was once white and bright
Now there is no one to occupy me