There is a house in the woods.

A very pretty house.

Its walls are brick and roof shingles.

The doors enviable wood and glass expertly cut.

There is no doubt it does not belong.

It shouldn’t be in the middle of nowhere.

The insides are well kept and antique furniture dusted.

Valuable knick-knacks scattered throughout, but nothing is ever stolen.

Graffiti washed, and windows replaced.

All this, yet the owner never seen.

Villagers once waited days to find them, with no luck.

No matter how many times visited it always looks exactly as before.

It should be in a suburb, not the woods.

Less people would care that way.

It would make more sense that way.

The elders don’t remember it being built, only that it's ever stood.

The locals try to ignore its enigma, and odd traveler solve it.

It was quarantined years ago but never forgotten.

Decades old and far off path I’m sure it has never aged a day.