“My Old House”

Barbara C Rowe Author

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My Old House

There is my old house, gray and worn.
I’ve lived in that old house since the day I was born
The screen doors are ragged and windows broken.
The cement porch steps are cracked and chipped,
And shingles are sparse and wind-whipped.

I played in that house with dolls and dishes.
I dreamt of boys and star-gazed wishes.
I cried when we were gone too long.
That was the home where I belonged.

School buses pulled up for us right out back,
And all of us kids were carrying a lunch sack.
Grandma doing wash and hanging it up,
In the yard, toys and tools strewn amuck.

As we became older and had our own,
We remembered the old house where we had grown.
Much love went into building that place.
Now the sight of it, what a disgrace!

Now years have passed and there it still…

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