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The pieces of a crumbling ruin

tumbling down to a field of grass.

Pebbles and rocks, a shadow of hail,

splintered wood and shattered glass.

An empty house where no one roams

the gradual collapse of weathered walls,

all fading fast like a tired dream

with memories down darkened halls.

Absent of voice or calls of home,

only decaying rocks and falling stone,

decrepit wood and blowing winds

that groan in silence all alone.

Lost, abandoned and dying slow,

its beauty mirrored by broken glass,

this wasted home now left to memory,

tumbling down to a field of grass.