The Last House

The Last House

The first snow in winter time,

Lovely when sprinkling over pine,

Floats gracefully on the wind;

For me, it can only offend.

The first house refuses to yield,

Its foundations like roots in the field.

I pray it should never fall,

That none hear sorrow's tragic call.

The snow gathers upon the home,

Its presence setting us to bemoan

That last house at the bend

Which, I fear, will never mend.

Its body quivers, set ablaze

As though Vikings had come to raze,

Memories lost in a mournful cry

As ashes catch wind and fly.

I stand outside in winter's cold

Watching that last house fold.

I surely would too, in time,

For that last house was mine.

Author's Note

First effort at poetry in a long time. I'm excited to hear what people have to say :)

Reviews

[Emily]

"Lovely when sprinkling over pine"

I just love that line!!
Great poem for winter!
Keep on writing!!

[Jesse W.]

Thank you! :D