The House
The House
The old house at the end, you know the one I mean.
It’s stands alone forlorn,
forgotten over time.
It’s windows are all broken, it’s shutters hanging loose.
The garden once so loved is just now full of weeds.
But stop one minute and really look, you might just be surprised.
For in the house there lives a family of mice.
The trees that are outside the birds do make their nests.
And cats and rats and other things have all there found their home.
To us the house is nothing but to them it is their home.
The moral of this poem is never to judge too quick.
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