GIRL IN THE WINDOW

 

 

 

The old house upon the hill

Shown at its weathered window sill

A small, pale and forlorn child

Whose smilless cheeks seemed vaguely wild.

 

She did not move, she did not wink

But stared out as if to think

How happy she might someday be

If she could play beneath the trees.

 

If she could swing in the front yard,

But now, with this house to guard,

The spirit of the little girl

Dare not leave her ghostly world.

 

  And still she sits and gazes at

   The fence and swing and kitty cat

  That so many long years age

  She had played with and misses so.