The floor boards groan under the weight of time,
and the walls whisper tales of days now past.
Porch-bells are heard, winds carrying their chime.
Wallpaper fades, but memory paint lasts.
Under this roof a family once slept.
Children once played in the grasses that grew,
at night, in their beds, they peacefully dreamt
of the love, the joy, they blissfully knew.
Now this house stands in a state of decay.
Its windows are cracked, its roof has a leak.
Parents aren’t sleeping, no children at play.
But if you listen you’ll hear the walls speak,
of the people who walked all through its halls,
and what changed when all of the kids grew tall.
PC: Clark Young via Unsplash