The crumbling mansion at the end of the road
Is a ghost house, haven’t you heard?
Once inhabited by a Sorceress and her daughter
Now the magic plants serve as cow fodder.
We press our faces against the iron gates
And challenge each other to be brave
And climb the rickety gray porch stairs.
Then Mark shouts out loud about the curtain.
‘What curtain?’ we ask and the frozen face suddenly points and exclaims
‘Run!’. One look at the daughter’s room is enough
For our little misadventure to end.
And for the rest of the daylight, we play
In the cool river water at the bottom of the hill
-Armaan