The Mill Town House

Grandfather's house, knocked to the ground - to dust:
The windows wept when the bulldozer came  
Timeworn and dirty and wheezing black smoke,  
Just like the drab mills where grandfather moiled.  
  
Children play in the intriguing debris  
Where, once, children played on the garden path,  
Where grandfather told stories of past things  
And the children listened wide eyed, in awe.  
   
The door remains standing, creaking, ajar,  
As it yawns in the twilight of the gloom  
And the children knock though no one answers  
So, they run away for, why should they stay ?  
   
Abandoned now, no one, near here, comes by  
Except myself in the patience of night  
As I tap on the door, though softly now,  
Grandfather answers and dolefully smiles.