Cob Webs,Spiral Wheels

Making her way through the fog,startled by a croaking frog,she ran into the old house,Age has washed away its colors,the past has drained its cheer.She made her way through the door,This house was once a home.Walking carefully avoiding its cracks,this dungeon was once shelter.
Its dusty grand piano echoed tunes of a lively retrospect.Dancing to its ghostly music she stumbled and fell,Engulfed in a blanket of cob webs she got up and looked around,it was like standing in a box of concealed memories.she looked down at the wooden spiral wheels from a child's toy carriage she gasped at the thought of its age.Looking in the mirror at her own distraught appearance she fit perfectly in the house.A wave of joy splashed across her face,causing a child like grin to form on her delicate features.she was home.