those gone away

it's a tall
wooden house, built in
the early 1800's.
the wood is rotting, the shutters
hang by a thread,
bats fill
the attic,
mice scramble for cover
in the cellar
where coal once lay.
trees have come and gone
once
providing shade,
the fences have changed
from wood
to chain link,
to nothing but pillars,
crumbling clay.
rusted swings
and slides lean against
one another where children
once played.
a leather leash
is still wrapped to a post,
curled on the ground.
death came and took those who
slept here,
year by year families
were formed
and grew, then left,
each new soul to their own
lives, now no one remains,
just
the hollow rooms with peeling
sheets
of wallpaper, a piano of
yellowed keys,
cracks and faded colors once
bold
once gay. clocks unwound,
stuck
in an hour now forgotten
by those gone away.