Sunday, March 8, 2015



And when the winds moan wildly,
When the woods are bare and brown
And when the swallow’s clay-built nest
From the rafter crumbles down;
When all the untrod garden-paths
Are heaped with frozen leaves,
And icicles, like silver spikes,
Are set along the eaves;

Verse from: The Old Homestead by Alice Cary, From Friends’ Intelligencer, Volume XXV, Philadelphia, 1869


Patsy said...

Never could under stand abandon houses.

Henny Penny said...

I love poetry. The kind of poems that you post, I could read all day. The broken down swing reminds me of the swing on the porch at my grandma's house.

Country Gal said...

Lovely ! It is sad to see so many abandon buildings ! Thanks for sharing , Have a good day !

L. D. said...

Yes it does look like no one is at home.