it wasn't like this from the beginning
house for a host, us two epiphytes
a backyard garden in spring
degradation gaining gradually
slow, steady; callously creeping
holes in walls now plain to be seen
stains brown the flower wallpaper
in the house we chose to reside
pictures in the hall tilt; misaligned
tired tokens of promises and plans
broken; no longer can hang
doors boarded, locks latched
the wind still sneaks through the cracks
coldly laughing it's gauntly gale
sending shivers along our backs
softly alight a wood fire remains
burning embers of earnest acts
but it's warmth is dampening out
with the wind and rain so rampant
you'd think a home called heart
if made well would last long enough
to see the seasons through
and shelter the inhabitants in love
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