The Old House

 

The windowpane of dirty glass

Kept the cold from getting past

The snow outside lay cold and still

On ground and tree and windowsill

The neighbor’s house not far away

Was alive with the sound of children’s play

But this old house up on the hill

Stood silent in the winter’s chill

 

One small chimney in the back

Puffing out a plume of black

Against the sky of cloudy gray

The only sign of life this day

Nothing stirred on porch or yard

Life itself seemed frozen hard

Inside the house though, anger raged

Within a man trapped by his age

 

No one stopped to say hello

They passed his drive and on they’d go

To town or visit with some friends

He wished someone would visit him

Day turned to dark and then expired

Still he sat beside his fire

Never came that friendly knock

Only the toll of the mantle clock

 

Why is it that no one cares?

To go and see who’s living there

When they pass, they sometimes slow

Then reconsider and on they go

“Much to busy, he won’t mind

if I come back some other time.”

Other times are busy, too

Soon enough it will be you

Shut in and so all alone

Trapped by age within your home.

 

©1990 James L.Frady

Note:  I wrote this 31 years ago and it still crosses my mind when I see an old house where someone appears to be still living.