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.

The Entrance Gate is barely hanging,
Worn hinges are rusting away,
Opening and closing by children,
Was frequent in my younger days.

I remember the old kitchen,
The smells that wafted from within,
I see my mother stand there,
She was much younger then.

Bending over the wood stove,
Sweat pouring from her brow,
Meals were always ready to eat,
My Lord, I do wonder how.

Times were hard back then,
Everything we did by hand,
We had no modern conveniences,
We relied on the strength of man.

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.

Skipping down the hallway,
Energetic and ready to go,
We would gather in the front room,
Childish laughter would often flow.

Yes, there is an old house standing,
Its rooms now silent and still,
Here the foundation of my youth,
Brought forth determination and will.

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.

Gayle Davis
June 23, 2004©
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