The Haunted Treehouse

In the bounty of sylvan green

There stands a Treehouse alone

Stripped naked, unclean

The roof had blown away with the wind

The walls had tumbled down

The paling now hanging lopsided

Moss covered and brown

Back in the days of glory,

When the hunters played their game,

The hunters are now hunted down

While it stands as a creature lame

An air of ghost surrounds it

In the sliver of lunar light

And the Treehouse still stands alone

Silent and quiet