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 (me!)
May 1988
Beautiful poem!
ReplyDeleteJoy @ The Joyous Living