Poetry

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THE DREAM HOUSE

I know this may sound crazy
But, the other day as I walked by
The empty house there on the corner,
I could have sworn, I saw it cry!

For that day it was sprinkling,
And as it set in to rain,
It looked like tear drops falling
From a broken window pane.

Long, long years it has been empty,
With the garden overgrown.
It’s flowerbed not weeded
And the lawn, for years un-mown.

Then I pictured it in former days,
With a woman and a man,
An empty lot, not yet disturbed
Looking over all their plans.

The porch goes here, a window there,
It seemed I hear him say.
As he gazed into the woman’s eyes
Who, was due just any day.

This would give them number three.
His life would be complete.
The doting wife, the adoring kids,
And the house on a quiet street.

The children’s names and handprints
Are cemented in the walk.
What a story this old house could tell
If, walls could only talk!

They would tell of Billy, Jim and Joan
Their fights, and all the like.
About a cat named “Calico”
And a bulldog they called “Mike.”

And how mom and dad took care of things,
They both worked very hard.
How mom would hardly make a fuss
When “Mike” dug in “her yard.”

How dad built them a playhouse
In the big oak tree out back.
How love and laughter are the things
That this house didn’t lack!

But, now it just sits empty,
It’s been this way for years.
And when I think about it
I just can’t hold back the tears.

For it is just a crying shame
Or so to me, it seems.
For this old house that cries was once,
The house of some one’s dreams!

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