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The House on the Hill

Post No. 894


The House on the Hill


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.


©Denise G Allen, 06 November 2015 09:14


On Top of the Hill

On Top of the Hill

once upon a time long, long ago
when i was young and immature
looking forward through the mists
i could not imagine getting old
when to me ‘over the hill’
was thirty-five by which time
i was sure my best years
would have been and gone

now that i am as old as the hills
or as old as methuselah
peering backward through the mists
it’s easy to remember being young
but i hope I’m wiser now and i know
the best years are still ahead
for me to explore at my leisure
as long as my brain remains sane

©DGA 19 August 2011 06:17