She stood

hobbled and

windswept in the field.

                                      

A small farmhouse

whose facade,

though aged,

                                      

showed details of

beauty from

her youth.

                                      

A complexion lashed with

delicate shutters, a

front door kissed

                                      

with a blush of

pink,

albeit ghostly…

                                      

a high forehead and

hair of intricately

woven shingles.

                                      

Though sweet, she,

this house, stood

sadly as if grieving.

                                      

She was lonely for

a family to hold and

shelter on the

                                      

storied land where

she was

rooted.

                                      

Her hearth still warm…

as she always kept

it kindled.

                                      

Then, the welcomeing

sight of

a car

                                      

kicking up a

cloud of hope,

approaching…

                                                          

~Keith Hoerner

USA