The house stands alone tucked away as time forgot.

Paint peels and the wood rots.

Broken windows and screens that swing in the wind.

In the small attic window she stands.

pale little white hands, pressed upon the glass.

Long ago this was her home.

Now she haunts and roams alone.

She longs for peace that can not come.

She smiles peeking down as the realtor pounds the sold sign in the ground.

She hums and skips away.

soon new people will come to play.

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