The Old House

Theres an old house in the meadow,
where people used to live.
It's paint is chipped and ugly,
and the windows are hanging off their hinges.
The grass is knee-high,
and the door stands wide open.
Wide open to anyone.
Animals run in,
and start to run the place.
Who lives there are
squirrels
deer
raccoons.
No longer people,
but the things here before us.
I run through the meadow,
to see this house.
My eyes open wide,
to this beautiful house.
For it is beautiful in my eyes,
because it is my true home.