The House, a poem. The big house stands silent and forlorn. So long deserted by man and mouse.
Boards are creaky in the long dark halls.
Some say at night a lonely traveler may pass The house is illuminated as if it were glass. A beautiful lady walks about in blue She calls mournfully for her baby Hugh. Though I have been there, I've not seen this sight, Never wandered there at midnight. No matter what is there or what others may tell, I feel that I and the house, know each other well. Most are scared or refuse to pass at night.