The House

When once I took a sorry stroll,

Saddened by a tale untold,

That dreary night in mid-November.

(Why I was there I can't remember.)

While I stood there watching, waiting,

Waiting, watching while debating, 

Debating whether I should or not

Go home for a bun all nice and hot. 

I decided no and proceeded on,

Proceeding to a place now gone,

To find the house still there intact

Was quite a shock for me; alack!

I had hoped and pleaded with all my soul,

Pleading it be still not there my goal. 

To see it there was troubling to my mind,

A mind that needed saneness and things kind. 

"Shall I proceed?" I asked myself. 

"Shall I proceed into this place of stealth?

Or turn back and attempt to forget?"

But before my mind was set,

I heard a hoot from an owl.

Looking up, I saw the feathered fowl and scowled,

Scowled at that annoying bird. 

And there am I still, breathing not a word.