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![](This_Old_House_files/BW-LeftBehind-icon.jpg) There
is an old house standing,
With its clapboard walls decaying away,
It is a place of childhood memories,
A home once filled with play.
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The Entrance Gate is barely hanging,
Worn hinges are rusting away,
Opening and closing by children,
Was frequent in my younger days.
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I remember the old kitchen,
The smells that wafted from within,
I see my mother stand there,
She was much younger then.
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Bending over the wood stove,
Sweat pouring from her brow,
Meals were always ready to eat,
My Lord, I do wonder how.
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Times were hard back then,
Everything we did by hand,
We had no modern conveniences,
We relied on the strength of man.
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I see a little child back in time,
Carefree and happy as could be,
Brothers and sisters were many,
I loved them and they loved me.
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Skipping down the hallway,
Energetic and ready to go,
We would gather in the front room,
Childish laughter would often flow.
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Yes, there is an old house standing,
Its rooms now silent and still,
Here the foundation of my youth,
Brought forth determination and will.
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I loved this old decaying house,
I cherished it throughout the years,
Inside it walls I learned to love,
And conquer most of life‘s fears.
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Gayle Davis
June 23, 2004©
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