Sqeeekee...kaabang...clip-clop, clip-clop,
the echoing emptiness of a house worn long
one must ask where have all the people gone?
Not a whisper, nor a peep or a water blot drop,
The lingering smells, the telltale smudges
pasted for history on the stairway's banister
makes one wonder, where, moved the prankster,
who always held tight to tired old grudges?
Methinks, this once stately manor, home for gentry
was where many little lies and mischievous doings...
enchanted the loyal friends of the royals wrongdoings,
Breathes deeper, more freely... now seen empty.
With a bucket of suds, a broom, and a duster
together with backbone and sweat on the brow
could put the sparkle back into this sacred cow
returning this estate to its original luster.
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Author Notes
Pix This Poetry Club Challenge
Four quatrains, ABBA; CDDC, EFFE, GHHG
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