Light's fine rays succumb to the power
Of the shadows of Night's embrace.
The dark landscape suffers under the scour
By the probing eyes of Moon's gaping face.
Cold and bitter, the air wraps its knuckles
Against worn and broken window frames.
Years of pressure and the wood buckles,
The trees' o'ergrown claws, like weapons, maim.
An old brick driveway, now devoured —
Greedy vines and weedy hands take its place.
Bright, lively trees here once towered —
Gone, tombstones marked by empty space.
Lazy drafts whisper and roll with a quiet lull
Hide and seek with Light their only game.
Nothing disturbs them here; all is dull
Within this abandoned house of no name.
But Night's time is up, fleeing like a coward
Light permeates with the will to reclaim.
Day lights the sky with finite grace
And sets, with radiance, this house aflame.