In the twist of the night,
Shadows loom on webs of darken horror,
Entry to places where no one wants to go,
where spiders crawl in tight net cores,


Moonlight shears, madness shimmers,
awakens call across those window panes,
drapery weeps by ageless dust on curtain rods,
musty air lingers from timeless neglect,
no one seemed to care,


This house of death plummets call,
arises its discussing mess from deadbeats drift,
resurrection from its past abandonment,
What Not I Say,
a vacuum cleaner a pail of soapy water,
a can of paint a bit of soul can do,


From panes of glass from room to room,
from closet clutter and beds unmade,
a touch of heart a bit of elbow grease,
spic and span this house won’t weep,
no more;

Where one hand crawls it way,
then mitten hand creeps along its way,
upon dusty furniture I deplore,
laundry folded; must put away,
dishes stacked on counters tops,
and glasses all about this house,
a weekly chore forever more,

daily chores to broom these floors,
that sparkle along its core,
works like magic; to shine by day ;when guest arrive ,
Tour my home it’s not a horror,
 welcomes  guest who come to my door,
forever more;

Await fine brew upon those lips,
sip your apple cider,
a bit of treats upon this entry door
awaits my guest,
this maid can say then do no more,








Hanger