Love Is A Monument A House

Love is a monument to a house when it's empty. Where the wind climbs the rickety spiral stairs A ghost in her nightdress hovers in her -penitentiary Looking on dead golden pastures, unaware The beatings of her heart don't make a sound. Not one, chime crunch of leaves searching around. Love is a monument to a house when it's empty. Like disused Sunday school with a piano Playing only to a scarecrow looking back all edgy In the distance, black crows circle in the shadows. Then come to rest on a rusty old iron harrow, Above someone's long-forgotten dry bones. Love is a monument to a house when it's empty. Lost in its self-importance, eerie All the widows echo. Who has taken over my room? When the dead and the living appear and disappear Like a lonely child staring back at the full moon Waiting for sunlight from yesterday to reappear.