Secluded and dismal,
The mansion sat slumped,
With walls greatly battered
And a porch like a dump.
A dour anomaly in the uniform neighborhood,
The mansion was a sight of old, weathered wood.
Mysterious winds whoosh as each passerby glowers,
The lawn, darkened and dead, with no sign of bright flowers.
Yet in the unlikely case that one steps inside,
Drawn to the ominous glow through the blinds,
They’ll be met with a spectacle of true elegance:
Windows of stained glass emit great luminance,
Purple velvet curtains drape down to the floor,
Golden carvings in corners and intricate doors,
Delicate paintings arrayed on the walls,
Luxurious statues that tower so tall.
Quick to judge from the outside, hauntingly tattered, unsure,
Unknowing that beauty lies in the obscure.
