Decaying Lace.

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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.