Once a house, but never a home,
here, the fair babe now withered,
dying in a murky room, under the
wintry spell of the broken house.
It was said once in Spring, the house
glowed amid the same trite rows, and
welcomed her traveling heart into
the warmth behind its hazel door.
Summer came, and humanity danced,
and hooked her heart into a happy room,
rapt with mesmerizing tunes, fluffy air,
and eternal promises of tomorrows.
When she next looked out the window,
her eyes saw red, yellow and orange,
the leaves that sprung eternal began
its regime against the seasons’ end.
The house, thin-skinned and emptied,
could not protect against the cold,
which waved in intermittent shards,
bursting her heart, plumped, in pieces.