A sagging roof, a window vine
A tattered dress upon the line,
A shutter bangs against the wall
A bottle breaks out in the hall,
A shingle clacks against the house
A trap is set for wayward mouse,
The steps are old and thick with rust
The structure groans with each wind’s gust,
The ceiling creaks with o’erhead strain
The water trickles down the drain,
The trim is lined with peeling paint
A candle flicks upon a saint.
Here life at best seems times unjust
But tarries on because it must.
Claire V. Bogdanos 