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The Sorry House

By Irony, Lawndale, CA

The floor, it moved, it wept.
The ceiling fixtures slept.
A foreign vase, downwards,
Divides itself to shards.

A light swept in, and out.
The air tangoed about.
See there, it moved, the couch--
The walls remain untouched.

The day, unmoved, it passed.
The wind, afraid to laugh,
Pushed up upon the chimney--
Watched its breath turn grey.

The lights turned off and on,
An odd sight to the lawn.
The door burst from forces unknown--
The grassblades trampled down.

Then all became dormant,
The surroundings ignorant.
The house: still as it comes,
And a king of sorry homes.

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