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
