An Empty Richety Habitation Poem by james watkin
An Empty Richety Habitation
Hear it moan, for whom lodged there.
Numb swept, of that cold blast
Death's own, with a jeer!
Old couple, with no regrets.
Brightened up each window
With fire-light and cheer.
Wept, in turn, whose tone of loss!
This, for its own comfort
For home, comforted.
As quick as by vine o'ergrown
Which fell in on itself.
Despair's hand on head!
Wednesday, September 7, 2022
Topic(s) of this poem: house,ruins
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8/21/2025 3:13:10 PM # 1.0.0
