An old abandoned house,
White frame, stands on the hill
And looks down here on me.
A feeling always still Lingers about its walls
Each time I look around.
The windows, vacant, stare.
There never is a sound. And yet it seems to live.
Its memories float inside
In rooms I cannot see,
A former life to hide Of some time in the past
When children's voices called
Where grasses now stand still
And dead tree limbs are sprawled. I wonder on the house,
The life that once was there.
But it stands silent, mocking me,
Continuing to stare.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love Kay Whitaker's Poems. She stirs my memories and awakens my emotions. I have had the opportunity to meet her and she is a very wonderful, sweet and loving lady that I call my friend. Brenda Slovacek Yates Terrell, Texas