Home is so sad. It stays as it was left, Shaped to the comfort of the last to go As if to win them back. Instead, bereft of anyone to please, it withers so, Having no heart to put aside the theft.
And turn again to what is started as, A joyous shot at how things ought to be, Long fallen wide. You can see how it was : Look at the pictures and the cutlery. The music in the piano stool. That Vase.
Why is the 'home' 'Sad'?