S

S is for..... Shack

I wrote this when I was 15, about a small shack (that I believe could be haunted, but that's another story) that is only a short distance from the house I spent many summers & weekends as a child in central Michigan.

Shack                         

Standing on a hill,

Overlooking the river:

Far below.

The sun shines

With all its might

Through your door, your windows,

The hole in your roof.

All the summer days,

Sad and abandoned.

Snows fall, melt and

Freeze again.

Torturing your burnt wood

As much as the fire.

Buried in snow,

Pretty as a picture.

But you know different,

Because you’re the one

In pain.

Forgotten

At the edge of a field.

No one cares

About this poor little

Shack.

Someone did – long ago,

But now they’re gone and

The shack is alone.

By Lisa Marie Owens

May 1988