The Would Be Home Of Broken Dreams Poem by Francis Duggan

Known to many as the would be home of broken dreams the ruins on the verge of the town
The timbers propping it up are decaying about to crumble and fall down
The woman who owned it she ran out of money and the builders from it walked away
And others builders they did not want to know her when they knew them that she could not pay.

The story of the would be home of broken dreams one might say is one of heartbreak
The woman who owned it suicided her disappointment for her too much for to take
The would be home of her dreams left to crumble in the back yard there rank thistles grow
On dry and windy days in late Autumn through the neglected block the thistledown blow.

Some locals swear that her ghost lives there on dark nights in the wind and the rain
They say that they can hear her weeping expressing at her sense of loss her pain
Her broken dreams crumbling around her and her spirit at rest cannot lay
As a spinster she died in her early forties she did not live to grow old and gray.

The would be home of broken dreams now ruins that are beyond repair
Deserted by most living creatures only woodlice and white ants live there
The woman who owned it suicided but some of the locals do swear
That often they do hear her weeping her sobs echoing in the night air.