Old House

What have you seen in your hundred years?

If asked, what could you say,

Of the dozen families that lived in these walls,

Of the hundreds of children at play?

Did the boys slide down the bannister rail,

To a father’s angry scolding?

How many laughs, and how many tears?

Have marked the years unfolding?

Every time a floorboard creaks,

The sound tells another story.

A hundred summers in this heat,

A hundred Christmas glories.

Here in this kitchen, a dozen mother’s

Have left their wonderful stories behind.

Open the cupboards, look and see,

There a tale you will find.

Old recipe on yellowed paper,

Phone numbers scribbled on doors,

A catalog from ’60’s.

1950’s floors.

A hundred years of living,

These walls have seen each day.

A dozen families have loved this place,

Then sadly, moved away.

And now you sit, empty, forlorn.

Your dusty halls are still.

But memories linger in these walls forever.

And memories always will.

Do ghosts hide here, in your shadows?

Are there secrets, hidden wells?

Oh, that you could only speak,

The tales that you could tell.

To walk down your halls in quiet step,

Just listen, hear the story

That an old house can clearly tell,

In matchless oratory.

“I am the years gone by, and yet,

I welcome you within!

This empty house can be your home!

A new tale can begin!”