Fleeting Farmhouse
Fleeting Farmhouse
The ceiling it leaks,
The floor always creeks
Mice seem to sneak
By windows that seep.
The blood runs deep
In a house fallen asleep
You would think I would not weep
But is that really such a leap?
The porch has fallen in
Its peeling its skin
Stopped trying to win
Let time take its spin.
This poem is about:
My family