~ Vic Crume
Not a window was broken
And the paint wasn’t peeling
Not a porch step sagged -
Yet, there was a feeling
That beyond the door
And into the hall
This was the house of
No one at all.
No one who breathed
Nor laughed, nor ate
Nor said “I love,”
Nor said “I hate.”
Yet something walked
Along the stair
Something that was
And wasn’t there.
And that is why weeds
On the path grow high,
And even the moon
Races fearfully by -
For something walks
Along the stair -
Something that is
And isn’t there.
No comments:
Post a Comment