History's Heart

Tucked in the corner between today and the past

A cabin, sits covered in dust

Its roof made of tin and never meant to last

Now held together by rust

Torn from the pages of history's heart 

It sits on borrowed time

Just waiting for tomorrow to pick it apart

Crippled, and passed its prime

Its cupboards now bare, but for two rusty cans

That sit all alone on its shelf

Hung by the fireplace, some old pots and pans

Just barely a ghost of itself

Its windows now lost to the heat and the cold

It's door, now broken and bent

Its chimney in pieces, the mud wouldn't hold

Its stones now crumbled and spent

Yesterday's shadow, still cast on the ground

As it waits for the seasons to start

It's dying each day, without making a sound

As it's torn from history's heart