A Pile of Rubble
When the house began to crumble,
No-one made a rumble.
When the foundation itself did shake,
Not one person did quake.
They were told to it to tend,
But not a hand did they lend.
They ignored the shingle,
That fell as they mingled.
They masked the mold in the basement,
By spraying heavily a lovely scent.
If dirt was visible on the floors,
They simply closed the doors.
When the roof began to leak,
They claimed they’d fix it within a week.
The ivy that grasped at the column,
Was a poison they decided to welcome.
As the paint peeled off the walls,
They simply watched it fall.
All the colors began to fade,
So they said the fads were these new shades.
All the undone necessary upkeep,
Was not because they were cheap.
To them it was just a bit of a pother
To ever give any of it a bother.
But then they felt the rubble,
Falling close to their stubble.
They saw the roof collapse,
And could only let out a gasp.
The scurried to build it up,
But their only tools were spoons and cups.
They realized they had no skill,
As with flooding waters, their house did fill.
They finally noticed as the house did crumble,
Because it did take quite a tumble.
Their prayers and will to mend were too late,
And the house succumbed to its dire fate.
They could do nothing but feel remorse,
And speak of regret until their voices were hoarse.
They had to leave the place,
And find a new space.
But they would never find anything
Comparable to the beauty of which the original house did sing.
One day, children would come to play,
“This is quite a mess!” they’d say.
For them the hideous sight,
Was a playpen full of hidden delight.
But in the shambles, danger did abound,
So parents called them back to be safe and sound.
The house had no owner to call its own,
And it couldn’t even enjoy the light the children has shone.
There had never been anything holding back,
All the decay from its attack.
Where a once majestic house did stand,
Lies a pile of rubble not quite so grand.