Memories crumble on the worn-down stones.
I do not see my abode from former days.
I only spy a crooked post.
I turn to the side, for the straight path is lost.
The yard is fully overgrown
And will never be walked again.
I’ve been away such a long time
That I do not know which way is which.
How sad and ugly the empty house is,
No smoke rising from the chimney.
I think of this house I’ve lived in all those years.
My breath catches, and I cannot speak.
© 2021, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.
