The Old House Poem by Kevin Eaglesfield

Her paint is brown where once was white,
Her eyes are black where once was light,
A dress of ivy covers eaves,
And rooms are deep in dust and leaves.

Her garden, once so neat and clipped,
Is overgrown and lawns are ripped
Where trees and thistles now stand proud,
And bramble thickets overcrowd.

Rust ate through gutters long ago,
And rain pours onto paths below.
Where pond and waterfall once stood,
The fall is stilled and pond is mud.

Her floors have gaps where worms have been,
And slates show spaces in between.
No-one wants her now she's old.
They leave her steeping, damp and cold.