A House on a Hill

There sits a sad house on top of a hill.
It sits miserable and separate.
Everything inside the house is still,
But the walls are lonely and desperate.
They remember the glow of light blue paint,
The pleasant weight of cherished picture frames.
But the memory of life has grown faint,
Haunted by faces with forgotten names.
When the dust settles, and the air is clear,
When the stars are out, and the moon is round,
The house laments all that it had held dear,
And its sorrow makes a pitiful sound.
A hill, a house, and walls once painted blue,
Abandoned, and the house, the walls, they knew.