A knocking, knocking at the door
A tapping, tapping on the floor
A whisper at the keyhole
‘Is there anyone at home?’
A ticking, ticking of the clock
A sighing, sighing at the lock
Again the soft, fragile tone
‘Are you in there all alone?’
A rapping, rapping on the pane
The lapping, lapping of the rain
This house is an empty shell
Here within is not a home
The feeling you get as you pass the house up the street.
Its broken down and abandoned.
It’s creepy sometimes and if its dark I hurry past it –
Yet I never seem to take another route