Bodie, Ghost Town

In lands where time hath stilled its ceaseless flight, There stands a town, forsaken by the light. Bodie, they named it, where the miners' dreams Were forged in toil 'neath heavens' watchful seams.

Behold! The houses, weathered, worn, and wise, With wooden bones that creak beneath the skies. Their doors stand open, welcoming the breeze, That whispers tales of lives that used to be.

A porch once bustled with the laughter bright Of children playing 'neath the golden light. Now silence reigns where footsteps used to tread, And ghosts of joy still dance within their heads.

The stairs ascend, a path to days long past, To rooms where love and sorrow were amassed. Each window frame, each wall, each beam so tall, Holds echoes soft of all who called it home—yet all

Are gone, like mist that fades with morning's glow, Leaving naught but memories in the wind's soft flow. O mortal, tread with reverence 'midst these halls, For every plank and nail sings tales of yore—be all.

The sun doth shine on roofs of rusted hue, On walls where time has etched its mark so true. Yet still they stand, these sentinels of yore, Guarding the secrets of a town no more.