Creaking wood is all you can hear from afar
Cobwebbed corners is what you see even from outside
Moss filled walls cry for attention
As crumbling floors will not let you in
Dusty shelves speak volumes of the weight they carried
A broken ladder silently hoping for some redemption
Leaning branches weakly sway away in the blustery weather
These are the remains of our tree house
Neglected and left to fend itself from the mercies of a cold
harsh wind
Predators that are like vultures waiting for their prey to
fall and die