A wide meandering path
leads to an abandoned
great house. An iron gate,
twisted with rust, separates
the perimeter of the property
from the outside world.
Debris of various sorts lay
scattered on the weed infested
lawn along with seasons of
leaves and broken branches.
Half buried prehistoric boulders,
the other half in China, rise from
the uneven front yard. Wild
vines crawl over lifeless paint.
A few yard tools rest on the
front porch. A less than
intimidating “no trespassing”
sign hangs tilted on a side door.
Roger Singer 