against roof tiles and felt shingles
of a house already broken
by years of neglect and decay.
Once a proud home where children played
and a dog, perhaps, barked in guard
against any who made their way
along the street towards the yard.
Forgotten now those stressless days
before the crumbling plaster cracks
and joists that sagged and then gave way
with arthritic sounds down the halls.
The West wind cares not for the past
nor for the memories that lie
in blackened brick or rusty tie.