The House
When once I took a sorry stroll,
Saddened by a tale untold,
That dreary night in mid-November.
(Why I was there I can't remember.)
While I stood there watching, waiting,
Waiting, watching while debating,
Debating whether I should or not
Go home for a bun all nice and hot.
I decided no and proceeded on,
Proceeding to a place now gone,
To find the house still there intact
Was quite a shock for me; alack!
I had hoped and pleaded with all my soul,
Pleading it be still not there my goal.
To see it there was troubling to my mind,
A mind that needed saneness and things kind.
"Shall I proceed?" I asked myself.
"Shall I proceed into this place of stealth?
Or turn back and attempt to forget?"
But before my mind was set,
I heard a hoot from an owl.
Looking up, I saw the feathered fowl and scowled,
Scowled at that annoying bird.
And there am I still, breathing not a word.