Is that the sound of breaking glass, and do I hear <br />diggers driving over my grass. Now they are pulling <br />out my door, if they go any further one might fall through <br />the floor. First the windows then the roof, why do those <br />buiders have to be so uncooth. Boards ripped from beneeth <br />my feet then thrown into a skip on the street. Men with crash <br />helmets coming day after day, why don't they just go away. <br />Day in, day out it's become a regular routine, I am lost to the <br />world with only a shell to be seen. I am thinking who owns me <br />now a property tycoon or will I be a home pretty soon. <br />No such chanch as the bulldozer moves in and I am tremblin <br />within. Brick by brick and stone by stone almost everything that <br />I own. Now I'me down to rubble and dust nothing left but only a <br />crust. All my world is compleatly abolished and I as a house <br />totally demolished. In a few months they may build on my land, <br />lets hope they build a house fine and grand; but if I become part <br />of a local bypass then I beg you not to drive over my grass.<br /><br />sylvia spencer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-house-called-lonely-part-3-the-trilogy/
