It is the afternoon and I am bored.

I'm at school! I'm going to post some more poetry for you.
The Lonely House
Streaks of rain
falling down the side of her face
little droplets race
as gravity pulls them
back to the earth.
She stands alone;
at the top of the hill
she spends her days
and wastes the nights.
Watching the passersby:
the cars, the kids,
the creatures of all kinds
live their daily lives
through both work and play.
Though scorching sun
and frigid rain
unleash their fury with full force;
still she remains
on solid ground,
condemned and bound
to the land she has found
she has been forced to stand on.
Her paint has faded,
the wood is cracked
and she creaks and squeaks-
the sounds of aging.
Her striking difference
from the other houses
isolates her from the others.
She stands alone;
wanting and waiting
for someone to come
and claim her as his own.