The House on the Hill
Posted: Wed Apr 03, 2013 12:07 pm
The House on the Hill
For Zondrae...
It stood all alone in a sea of despair,
Wanting for pity, for loving, and care,
With weeds in the garden, and dust on the sill,
And a list to the left as though terribly ill.
They neglected the house on the hill.
We needed a home that would not cost the earth;
A place that through work we might offer re-birth.
We studied it hard, from the north, from the south,
Then we marched to the bank with our heart in our mouth.
We purchased the house on the hill.
All winter we laboured, though rain and through frost,
With cold benumbed fingers, all hope nearly lost;
Each job completed revealed a new flaw,
And we dreaded each dawn what the day held in store.
We doubted the house on the hill.
At last, though, came feelings that bordered on hope;
A sense that we'd dropped to the end of the rope,
That things were improving, a corner'd been turned,
And now we were bearing sweet fruits we had earned.
We trusted the house on the hill.
It's hard to believe, as we sit on the porch,
And around us, below, shines each house, like a torch,
It was not always thus. A vigil we keep,
As the town dims its lights, and retires for sleep.
We love our dear house on the hill.
(Just an idea...)
For Zondrae...
It stood all alone in a sea of despair,
Wanting for pity, for loving, and care,
With weeds in the garden, and dust on the sill,
And a list to the left as though terribly ill.
They neglected the house on the hill.
We needed a home that would not cost the earth;
A place that through work we might offer re-birth.
We studied it hard, from the north, from the south,
Then we marched to the bank with our heart in our mouth.
We purchased the house on the hill.
All winter we laboured, though rain and through frost,
With cold benumbed fingers, all hope nearly lost;
Each job completed revealed a new flaw,
And we dreaded each dawn what the day held in store.
We doubted the house on the hill.
At last, though, came feelings that bordered on hope;
A sense that we'd dropped to the end of the rope,
That things were improving, a corner'd been turned,
And now we were bearing sweet fruits we had earned.
We trusted the house on the hill.
It's hard to believe, as we sit on the porch,
And around us, below, shines each house, like a torch,
It was not always thus. A vigil we keep,
As the town dims its lights, and retires for sleep.
We love our dear house on the hill.
(Just an idea...)