There is a little old house
that sits in a little old yard
I pass every day on my route home from work.
It is a charming little (tiny really, maybe 700 square feet max) bungalow with an ancient beige stucco exterior and a front stoop painted a brilliant white.
Often I’d see a little old couple mowing the lawn or trimming hedge and always,
tending to the beautiful flowers in terracotta pots and deep black soil beds scattered throughout the front yard.
It was neat and tidy.
Fairy tale charming.
But these last couple of months I’ve noticed a big black truck parked in the drive. The lawn has not been mowed and the weeds have strangled any flowers that may have once raised their blossoms to the sun.
It looks shaggy
My feeling is that the new owners don’t tend to the…
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