Grand Dame
The lady huddles alone, shuttered
against the cold damp day
White powder shimmers
against her ashen, faded façade
She stands a portrait of the past
A once Grand Dame, she is
now a mass of sagging eaves
broken glass, missing pieces
But under her rotted woodwork she lives
still sighs with the westward wind
remembers the family gatherings
children playing in her yard. She
still hears the long ago silenced footsteps
that once echoed on her grand stair
Time has slowly swept them away
left only memories of those she sheltered
