This Old House

This old house that I pass by
on morning walks,
I’ve seen older houses,
some with walls of rusted tin cans
flattened and cobbled together,
some of rotted wood, deprecit
and blackened with age,
still standing with grim dignity.

This house does not look quite so
rundown or derelict;
it’s the lush foliage from the trees
growing with such untamed abandon
like the briars and trees concealing
Sleeping Beauty’s castle as she slept,
that catches my attention.

The disappearing house is a disquieting
reminder as I feel myself fading away
under the relentless onslaught of time
and age and the passing years;
both house and I will cease to be seen and known,
as slowly we vanish from sight and memory
and sink into oblivion.