"The Haunted House" by Vic Crume

Not a window was broken

And the paint wasn’t peeling

  Not a porch step sagged - 

  Yet, there was a feeling

That beyond the door

And into the hall

  This was the house of

  No one at all.

No one who breathed

Nor laughed, nor ate

  Nor said “I love,”

  Nor said “I hate.”

Yet something walked

Along the stair

  Something that was

  And wasn’t there.

And that is why weeds

On the path grow high,

  And even the moon

  Races fearfully by –

For something walks

Along the stair - 

  Something that is

  And isn't there.