Old Lauril

Perched atop Mariner’s hill,
is a house named Old Lauril.
Creaky doors and rickety stairs,
the walls have bricks popping out in pairs.
The roof is cracked, the fences hacked,
the curtains are torn, ruined and ragged.

When the wind whoosh by, the windows clatter,
the glass comes down to the ground and shatter.
The front door garden is dry and pale,
once fragrant flowers now are frail.
In the moonlight, scary and bright,
Old Lauril is such a fright!

Spirited, ghostly, cursed and haunted,
with names as such the house is taunted.
But old man Billy, toothless and bowed,
loves Old Lauril as he always told.
“It ain’t no haunted,” he would often say,
“Old Lauril was not always that way.”

“Its walls were painted peacefully white.
The front rose garden was such a merry sight.
The light breeze as it swept a by
tickled the curtains and made them fly.
Gleaming, it stood in the morning sun
and the neighbours gloated, one by one.

But the joy and happiness of Old Lauril lay
in the man and his bride who, there, used to stay.
Graceful and lovingly, her every touch,
brightened Old Lauril ever so much!
He, with his affection and manly hard work
made Old Lauril so perfect and perk.

Together they made a home in the house,
until, alas! hard times arouse.
The army was prepared, the borders surrounded,
the war had begun and the alarm sounded.
The man so left, and his bride was alone.
Days crawled by but no one came home.

No letter, no news, nothing at all,
as his bride waited from dawn to nightfall.
Weeks and months; the war had long ended,
so did the hopes, which, on it, depended.
And not long before, his bride did leave,
Old Lauril was deserted- ‘twas hard to believe.”

“And now it stands”, said he, wiping a tear,
“all in ruins and utmost fear.
‘Twas such a fine house”, he said with a frown.
“Can’t believe it’ll be torn down”!
Yes, indeed his words are true,
Old Lauril’s days are finally through.

“Me loved it like the angels above,
in it, lived my lady love.”
As he said so he had a last view
of Old Lauril- “Ah! such houses are few.”
That very day was Old Lauril’s last,
as it stood there, quietly narrating its past.

Passed a month, now Mariner’s hill
looked bald and barren without Old Lauril.
But old man Billy, still toothless and bowed
Loved old Lauril as he always told,
“Perched atop Mariner’s hill
was a house named Old Lauril.”