Bats and snakes.

Trace the soot with your thumb,
the magnets forgot how to stay.
Empty winding paths in the attic,
the home of many bats so lonely.

Ornaments that hung in leap year,
are cracked now with silver sides.
Don't let go of that teeter-totter,
for it will surely throw you off.

Stars which used to cradle so fair,
do take to whisper of fallen meteors.
Light years crash past that autumn,
like the glaze of a jelly doughnut.

You've kept the toys in the cellar,
you've cut their hair and wasted away.
For now the type is written-off,
but the type writer still stings.

Catch the sheen of birds which flew,
listen to the sigh of leaves when dead.
Don't let that floorboard creak,
it's eerie moaning wakes the apparitions.

Reflections crack, whips go sullen,
at the chair's hanged-wooden leg.
Splashing into that old withered pane,
shimmery objects won't keep out the snakes.