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The Old House
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I saw the most beautiful house today, it stood upon a hill,
I knew not who had lived there, I guess I never will.

It dwells far from the highway, within the woods so deep,
The trees and brush and ivy hold it nestled in its sleep.

The stories it could tell you of long, long ago,
Now hide within its crumbling walls, things we'll never know.

I found this house while walking, one glowing Autumn day,
Along a lane grown over, where red and orange leaves lay.

The lane crept 'round a corner and coasted down a hill,
And there is was, watching me, so I stood so very still.

At first I was so startled and nearly ran to hide,
For houses such as this one, maybe ghost dwell inside?

I took one step backward and began to run away,
But something deep inside me, made me want to stay.

The wind among the treetops, softly sang a song,
It blew away the troubled day and my heart sang along.

Peace filled my troubled soul as burdens slipped away,
As that house softly called to me on that Autumn day.

The pathway was grown over, with thistles, brush and weed,
For footsteps hadn't been here for many years indeed.

The latch which held the door shut, had rusted all away,
Weathered wire was broken and the door had gone astray.

I stepped into the bosom of an era long ago,
The air was thick with memories of which I did not know.

Wallpaper hung in tatters, faded curtains in e'vry room,
An old piano braced against a wall...forever out of tune.

I stepped through a doorway, into a parlor room,
Its floor was swept with ivy vines to chase away the gloom.

I retreated to the kitchen to find the cupboards bare,
But table, stove and icebox was all still right there.

I climbed an old staircase, which creaked and groaned with pain,
The rooms up here were nicer, but all had been in vain.

The owners left so quickly, for things lay everywhere,
Old pictures and other odds and ends, even a child's highchair.

I found a very old dolly and some jewelry in a box,
Lots of ribbons, stained and dried and keys for someone's locks.

I wondered why they left these things, why they had to go;
If this had been a happy house, or one filled with woe.

So there I stood all alone that day, the peace did fill my mind;
I wished that I could stay there, suspended in another time.

But the shadows were growing deeper and the wind began to chill,
I looked through the window and down the brushy hill.

My mind began to wander as thoughts came to me...
A house really isn't a HOME...unless you WANT it to be.

Somehow in the whirl of living, I had escaped for just a while,
I had arrived here so sad and tired, but now I felt a smile.

A house is what you make it and they're all built the same;
It's what's INSIDE that counts so much...a HOME is a better name.

I climbed back down the staircase and looked around once more,
A tear slid down my smiling face as I walked out the door.

This morning I'd been troubled as I set out to roam,
I left my house this morning...but now I'm going HOME!

Bonnie David
written in the fall of 1972

This was a real place. It belonged to my cousin and her family who, for whatever reason, left it as I described it.


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Submitted: Friday, April 23, 2004

Last Updated: Friday, April 23, 2004

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