[Inspired by "XVII (I do not love you...)" - Pablo Neruda]

The house sits on an empty street,
waiting for a new occupant.
The rooms are lonely,
missing the company of someone.

The house hasn't been seen in years,
it is sad.
It sits in the same spot,
unable to move and find someone.

The house is broken,
with no windows or doors.
It is waiting to be fixed,
by a kind soul with a big heart.

The house has no furniture,
it is missing its character.
The house waits for the inevitable,
the wrecking crew.