This House

This is a poem I wrote a few years ago and, until recently, I had completely forgotten about it.

This house has seen many things

From births to deaths and the in-betweens

This house has stood for years on end

In the same old street yet with different friends

A tired old house with creaks and moans

With boxes of memories and photos on show

This is the house where I cut my knee

As I jumped from the stairs – its the stuntman in me!

This is the house where, as children, we played

And where all the adventures and games were made

This is the house where the parties were thrown

But the parties are different now we are all grown

This is the house where my father died

And we stayed up all night and cried

This is the house I’ll be sad to leave

For it has given more joy than you’ll ever believe

If these walls could talk, just imagine the history lessons they could provide…

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