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The darkness of oblivion
Shrouds the grand manor –
Then an abode of endless mirth,
Now a solitary forgotten charm
– Watching the creepers grow,
Shabbily twisting their way
Up on the pillars,
Slowly eating all the pride
Of the rustic beauty.
The splendid frame soaking
Up the last few sun rays
At the dusk of its glory.
The vacant French windows
Gaping at the cold countryside,
Still shocked and disillusioned
With the sudden demise
Of their amour-propre.
The lonely porch awaiting
A visit from someone, anyone
Kind enough to remember.
The creaky staircase looking
Intently at the door, hoping
That a guest would arrive,
Finding his way through the fields.

The darkness of oblivion
Has sure dimmed the verve,
But the hearth
Must be lit again!