the winding steps of an old hollow house
abandoned by the even ghost of a mouse
sits on a hill in forest of my soul
covered in ivy and filled with cold
a broken frame lies on the floor
it's ragged edge picture caught in the door
A mothers bright eyes filled with her pride
a father broad smile with nothing to hide
the faces of children holding restless eyes
smiles on there lips wrought from quieted cries
wisping fingers caress a withered print
to make out all their features you have to squint
wrinkled arms gently pull
while lonely eyes devour a jewel 
and lonely tears spill on moldly wood
with words that only they understood


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