The old house sits empty, vacant
The rooms are creaky quiet, stagnant.
This old house stands proud and full of secrets.
The rooms are spacious. Solemn.
The dark wood is worn, dusty
The footprints echo loud, lonely
Her surface is painted with strokes from a loving hand.
His falling footsteps announce his joyous find to the world.
It smells musty stale, rotten
Trapped in the past, forgotten
He breathes deeply of the air saturated with past fragrances
That sing to him of days filled with dancing and delight.
Is there any life left inside, hallow
The beauty is buried unseen, hidden.
Sunlight plays on the motes of dust that waltz in the air
Like tiny fairies drawing him to his unseen partner.
A treasure for only one, special
Love can see what can’t be seen, atrial.
Wildly he spins and whirls with delight
Anxiously awaiting the gift of tonight