The Manor on Spancil Hill

On Spancil Hill, an old grey manor stands.

It's mossy walls are now empty and still.

No laughter rings, not voices sing within;

It's just an empty shell of old grey stone.

Within, the dust is like the desert's sands.

Cobwebs enshroud rooms filled with seeping chill,

But once there was laughter and song within.

Light and life lived in halls now left alone.

The grounds have missed a gardener's tending hands,

Roses climb to the second story sill.

Yet beautiful the garden must have been

When the paths with flower petals were strown.

On the hill, the old grey manor still stands.

It's mossy walls are now empty and still.

No laughter rings, no voices sing within;

It's just an empty shell of crumbling grey stone.