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The House on the Hill
The empty living room with no people, only silent voices.
All the laughs and cries shared in this room.
The empty couches and chairs . . . and that one seat you always used to sit in.
The empty music room; Notes flow so quietly now. No more music, no more tea and cookies and no more dear sweet you.
The stairway to the deserted home of secrets. The memories fly in the air.
The footsteps in the carpet have been absorbed down to the wood.
The door is open with an empty inside. A lonesome bed of blankets, old books and paintings.
The garden is still full of mysteries and beauty. The dried up dead roses have no fragrance except love.
The pool still and flowing with leaves and dead ladybugs.
The gates of the home of secrets close.
I look back and it vanishes into the twilight of the night.
Ariana Battaglino,
(Granddaughter)
September 1995
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