The Octagon House Poem by Theresa Ann Moore

A stately octagon shaped house was built
many years ago by a man with expertise
and ambition…he built the structure with a
fine idea in mind; enjoying the country breeze

The finest materials were honed and carved
giving the owner a sense of unique quality
People of the town were not particularly
impressed… they classified it as an oddity

Over the years many families occupied the house
Some were carefully attentive and kept it neat
others were less thoughtful…making no repairs
Respect for the great home became obsolete

As time passed by and the house was sold
for various reasons… it was sadly unwanted
It seemed occupants had the urge to get away
Many thought the gray frame was haunted

Rumors flew that there were ghosts who
dwelled there... cursing those who resided
Some folks gave witness to a sickly child
who sang softly as down the banister she glided

Sometimes pounding hooves could be heard
While no horse was seen…only settling dust…
Often when the stove was cold there was the
smell of baking apple pie with butter crisp crust

Jitters dissuaded future buyers from purchasing
the old residence that once was so grand…
Not even the historical society is interested as
plaster crumples and bramble covers the land

Archives document an unequalled era of history…
Those who pass by look at the relic in anguish
Turning away with disgust…and shaking heads
wishing the deteriorating remains would vanish

9/11/2010