Once Elevated gates,
Drooping now,
Disappointment gravitates,
Unhouses longings.
Once a spirited hallway,
Now mentions its bare-bricks,
As their dressings strip.
The central cornice,
Clasping the ornate mirror,
Beheld all beauty.
Now a dead slab,
With sobbing secrets.
The Dinner table,
Bustled at breakfast,
Now taken away,
For it would last,
Longer than the wobbly chairs.
An elaborate open kitchen,
Barbequed in the backyard.
Now imprisons charred mittens,
And an odd life in a climber
Lined with pink flowers,
Chirpy Creepers confide,
In the little boulevard.
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