Poem

I found a poem that sums up the condition and situation of the house that I am documenting for my photoessay.  I am going to use this poem as the foundation for my photos.  I plan on using a recording of a reciting of the poem as the audio for my film. 

A sad, abandoned country house,

withers upon it's tiny hill.

What once protected, now is open,

and winds blow through it's broken window sills.

Deeded now to bird and mouse,

to spiders and to who-knows-what.

Sagging porch and empty rooms,

a kitchen wall with grease still spattered,

from someone's long-past breakfast.

laughter, cries, and prayer

used to fill this air.

And, beside this kitchen door,

children played and pattered

No more.

Ancient glass fragments, and 

something like putty on the floor,

a kettle, pieces of a shattered crock,

and "did someone throw it?" a rock.

Outside, a rusted plough, and this rubble

that might once have been a wagon,

nearer the house, lesser artefacts: 

a medicine bottle, a shoe,

like the kin of those who strove here,

scattered.

Sunset and sadness come 

as I stand among the runes,

trying to honor 

something that mattered.