A History Left Behind
P Patti Masterman
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Houses bemoan fate, whenever wind blows;
Softly cantankerous, they assess their pains-
Stiff as arthritis, the way that years show.
A hundred years pass in the blink of an eye,
To wood beams, comfortably sleeping with rot;
Floors bedded with termites, rafters open to sky.
Then sooner or later, the occupants die-
A place doesn't last long, when no longer loved;
Becomes shelter to rodents, and small pupae.
Its memories sealed with cobwebs and time,
Shingles on its bones, no one left cares-
It's slated for dust: a history left behind.
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