Progress
written by: Gail Constable
Once it would have
Been someone’s
Home, warm, cozy,
Full of the smells of
Cookies and turkey
Dinners, laughing
Children ripping
Paper from gifts
On excited holiday
Mornings, snugly
Tucked in beds at
Night with sweet
Dreams, holding
Hope for a bright future.
Now it sinks into the
Overgrown yard,
Broken windows,
Doors hanging
Crookedly from
Rusted hinges, inside
Covered with dirty
Mattresses, needles,
Signs of rodents,
A three legged chair
Next to an old table,
Not quite abandoned
Yet no longer lived
In, airs of memories
And tragedies waft
Under the cloudy sky.
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