The old farmhouse lay atop the hill,

exposed to elements, unused and seemingly unloved.

Crumbling walls and peeling paint told a story of different times,

of winter fires in the evening, and family storytelling,

early, noisy, happy breakfasts,

whilst cows await their milking in the meadow below.


Now just a shell remains.


But perhaps these times, sitting in amongst their memorials,

are just a pause button;

where the house awaits its new housekeeper,

with this beautiful young wife and children,

to once again bring merriment and love to the rooms within.


And to fill the farmhouse with love again.

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