Amidst rolling fields, where whispers fade, Stands an old farmhouse, memories frayed. Its roof, once proud, now rusted and worn, A sentinel of time, weathered and torn. The walls echo laughter, long since gone, Windows like eyes, staring into dawn. Each creaking floorboard, a tale untold, Of toil, love, and dreams that took hold. Once the heart of the land, it stood tall, Now a relic, silent witness to all. The wind weaves its secrets through the eaves, A symphony of nostalgia, rust and leaves. In black and white, its story unfolds, A canvas of history, weathered and old. The abandoned farmhouse, a bittersweet rhyme, A memory etched in shadows, frozen in time.