The brown house
at the end of town
worn and torn at the edges
was dilapilated, falling down
No gates, no fences nor hedges
remained in this state
for as long as I can remember
What makes the subject of a story
while all the others washed away
without a thought
unremembered dwellings
The other side of the tracks
a worn out house down-town
was it really brown
shimon weinroth
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/brown-house-remembered/
