Cobwebs, created by long lost spiders,
decorate chipped and splintered
green wood walls of that rickety old
getaway. Reeds wave, tall and imposing,
a line of soldiers protecting
the broken dock from invading forces,
views of the water surface obscured.

A canoe, weathered and cracked, mirroring
those run down walls, lies
half strewn, creeping moss lining
the base, little islands on plastic seas,
one oar remaining, though broken
in two, beneath it.

No light to shine from nary a room,
no laughter nor sound
to follow, for its family moved on,
grew up and grew out,
aged onwards and never looked back
at the shack that had held
their holiday memories,
and like a stuffed toy placed
in an attic chest, it stagnated
and withered in what was.