The House Beside The Road

The house beside the road,
Where people lived
And children played,
Is empty now
And falling down.

The echos of happy feet
Are heard now,
Tapping to the sound
Of Poppy's fiddle,
But the house beside the road
Is empty.

When a gentle voice
Is heard in the house,
It's only a singing breeze
Sifting itself through
The cracks in the roof of
The house beside the road.

by Scarlett Treat

Comments (5)

a lovely image this captures, blending past and present with an eye that sees all. -chuck
Scarlett, This poem evokes memories of childhood and decay with a gentle whimsy which is very appealing. love Allie
Quite simply, another poem by Scarlett Treat to love and enjoy always. Thank you.
Nice to think we leave a little of ourselves in the fibres, to be wafted around from time to time, and there'll be folk left to pick up on them. Danny
Amazing! The Hauntingly Beautiful 'The House Beside The Road ' what a wonderful piece of well structured art to behold Brilliant! ! ! ! 10 Love Duncan x