Ghosts of Yesterday

There's a cabin on a hillside

Scattered leaves upon its floor

No curtains for its windows

No hinges for its door

A fireplace made of broken stones

Lined the outer wall

Outside becomes the inside

Painted by the Fall

A table in the corner

Where homemade bread would sit

A broken chair with wounded legs

Its binding, worn and split

Behind the cabin's hollow shell

A cross that marks the past

A tiny grave, that's filled with love

A daughter who had passed

This cabin tells a story

With hidden imagery

Filled with ghosts of yesterday

For all who want to see