Some words inspired by a photo of an old abandoned cottage in Northern Ireland that I found posted in the Faerie magazine Facebook group. submitted by urban explorer/Facebook fan Greg Basher!

I want to know how you stood on the day when you were full of life,

Without the barriers put up and around,

Without the trees growing up tall around you shielding you from the suns beaming light.

I want to know who you were when the song of our voices flowed over your rooftops like melodic medicine,

Before the vines swallowed you whole, dampening the song into faint echoes.

I want to know your walls as cabinets of collected encyclopedias, engraved words you will never erase.

Your door stands open like a rare flower budding in the leftover garden.

And I want to know who still comes as a visitor in the night.

I want to know who the winds were that came shrieking through you and left your bones hollow,

Still standing like a beggar with palms outstretched towards forgotten family.

If you listen you can still hear her stories in faded whispers falling out of the darkened rooms we do not wish to go.

Through the shattered glass windows, and tip toeing over the grass and dried leaves..

If you lean in closer you will hear her tell you her story.

In hushed comforting tones like a mother’s bedtime lullaby as she lays you onto the softness as is the earth underneath her.