Saturday, April 21, 2012


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.


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.

At the edge of a field.
No one cares
About this poor little
Someone did – long ago,
But now they’re gone and
The shack is alone.

By Lisa Marie Owens
May 1988

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