Abandoned Dwelling (Poetry)

The cold lives here now
welcomes in what winds
whistle down the hills
gather round the chill
of a long-dead hearth

The rotted door yawns
it is open house
to ghosts passing by
timbers creak beneath
a low-weighted sky

Paths like outstretched limbs
thin and hungry for
how it used to be
rooted in this soil
living off the land

Full of empty rooms
not a stick remains
gone each stool and spoon
only the odd mark
mourns a picture frame

Who they were is lost
none to tell the tale
squatter snow creeps in
orphaned by a gale
Winter pays no rent