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The House on the Hill

Post No. 894

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The House on the Hill

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It stared sightlessly at the valley below.

Blinds closed to the sun, the wind, the rain.

Frozen in pain, it stood silently waiting

While the wild flowers wilted, choked by weeds,

And the cobbled path limped to the door.

Home, I thought, and felt an answering echo

From the house on the hill.

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©Denise G Allen, 06 November 2015 09:14