Broken mortar crumbling away.
Glass squares that make a pane.
Saw dust where once was wood.
Knock it down, they really should!
Lost memories and stolen kisses
whispered thoughts and true misses.
The firsts the lasts
the forgotten memories of someones past.
A decaying world now unsung
contents lost probably flung.
Home to critters the lost and quitters
filled now with decades old litter.
It started here, it started there
surely someone out there cares.
The broken soul of this decaying place
is someones memory of perfect lace.
Karen Hayward. (copyright) 2015.