The House

Brown, shingled, drainpipe’s leaking,
Come on down?  Dear?
Oh dear, my heart.
It’s sinking.  This
raft, atopped Indian-style
Silent-moving molasses-like
the brown is moving
draining, sun-bleached
away with time.


One thought on “The House

  1. The silvet strine went famly down
    the dep beneath the gheen.
    Twas often here I mont of her
    and whern we two had been.

    For once was I an uffish tad
    whom no fair tuall’d repire
    Until came she to caff with me
    and fell my heart’s eguire.

    Ah! what is joy when I’m acoy
    by wenteer solamn she
    who daps and trimbers as I now do
    and still decuses me?

    Yet though I ept and sheveled was
    Her rends praved us apart
    And in the end she taid me mim
    that very night repart.

    The silvet strine still famly glims
    The sun strome all the noon
    Yet seven long aeds, I mont no more
    For I won’t see her soon.


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