On a table, an open book, filled by pen and ink
A chart, perhaps, or ledger, makes you stop and think
Someone, once cared, deeply, about this place
But, it’s been left here, empty, and on the brink.
Of finding out the answers, we all truly seek
Of heritage, and family, things filled with mystique
Absently turning the pages, searching for our life
Promises, once spoken, surely, makes this home unique.
As sun shines through the windows, caked with grime
A reminder of what must have been, a beauty, in its prime
Still, the light brings comfort, as a sigh escapes our lips
To leave the past behind us, would surely be a crime
There’s too much left to learn, and…
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