HOUSE

HOUSE
The ruins of an old house stand
Without a roof, on muddy land,
Each window is a sightless eye
Staring at the city sky.
Locks are broken, every wall
Looks as if about to fall.
The people who lived here, they say,
Just packed up and went away.
And once when I was playing there
Halfway up the curving stair
I thought I heard a laughing sound
Coming from the trampled ground.
        Leonard Clark