A great estate lays lone

A hulking monster of stone

Creaking of boards 

Upon wooden floors

And rustles of birds 

Singing their words

For the house on the hilltop so harsh 

That it now sinks into the marsh

Beautiful rooms once lay 

With windows open, a bright bouquet

With only most beautiful plucked

To adorn vases and collars for luck

The dying and the dead

Became a sign of beauty instead

For how is a weed different than a flower

When they both have the power

To decorate and symbolize

The greatest prize

Of all, momentary affection 

And one’s eternal reflection

The ghosts have no risen

Escaped from their constant decomposition

Rotting flesh and brittle bone

Turn into dust and stone

Ivy weaves and snakes

Creating patchwork of deep breaks

Abandoned by an organized society

And its once inescapable notoriety

But coming alive in variety