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The rustic cabin

As I came upon the rustic cabin nestled on the hill
Signs of days gone by ever present still

I felt that time had stopped abruptly at that old shack
The occupants had walked away never to come back

Widow boxes overgrown with weeds and wilted flowers
A huge stone chimney rising up, over the cabin it towers

Logs and hand split lumber turned gray and worn from time
Hand carved hearts in the shudders, spoke of a love rare to find

As I step onto the large porch, I see a worn slingshot with broken sling
It lay upon the well worn and faded motionless porch swing

Across the slated deck a small rocking horse and bench
Indicating a place where family times were spent

As I lift the latch the old hinges creek as the door swings
Inside under layers of dust were all necessary things

Hot water kettle on a wood stove next to the fireplace
Dishes in the china cabinet, safe inside their case

Photographs lined the mantle, under a loaded shotgun
Where had this family gone husband wife and young son

On one side a small room with a single bed well made
A wardrobe with is door ajar paint peeling signs of fade

Across the cabin a larger room with its full sized feathered bed
Along one wall a curtained covered closet its fabric faded red

On the table a wash basin, pocket watch and folded money
My wonder increased when where why wasn’t funny

Through the dirty windows I seen the dock at the lake below
As I made my way down the hill a flagstone path did show

Reaching the dock rickety withered away, falling apart
Remnants of towels and a picnic basket that broke my inquisitive heart

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