There was a time
when this old house
was filled with life
and sometimes strife
but mostly life.

There were gated stairs
and potty chairs,
grimy doors
and muddy floors
and life
and, sure, sometimes strife
but mostly life.

There was a time when this old house
teemed with friends
and questionable trends
and life
and loud and bawdy strife
but mostly glorious life.

But then came your death
(Will I ever catch my breath?)
And now this old house has no life,
just unending strife
and the deafening
quiet.