The Yellow House

Have you ever wondered 
who lived in this house?
Once upon a time,
a long time ago.

When the paint was fresh,
and the structure sound.

Before the walls
of faded yellow,
had all but fallen down.

Who were they?
What would they say
if they stopped by
to see it today.

About those who
deserted their home so fine.
Was it keeping up with the Jones'
that ruled their minds?

Oh fallen house
the stories you could tell,
Squeak the mice
who live there still,
amongst the rafts, and
traveling along the broken window sill.

Behind the banks of fallen snow,

Behind the trees that in front now grow.

Remains of the yellow house

From which this poem flows.