Have you ever passed under the window
of an old, abandoned house?
Have you ever looked up,
yearning for a beautiful face
on the other side of the glass?
Something about once proud houses
now fallen into ruin
that makes you slow down your step.
A family once lived there.
A man or a woman built it with hope.
They are gone now.
They have rented it indefinitely to the silence and the cold.
Once proud, now falling apart, an old house weathers the storm waiting to be sold.
It weeps rain through the roof
It shivers through the cracked windows
It gathers dust.
Walk softly by it
so you won’t disturb the ghosts
who glance at you from the crumbling window
even as you go.
Who secretly wish you were the one
who will finally climb up the steps
and open the door.