Vickie's home where she grew up

THE CASTLE

Many years the old house so faithfully stood,

Peeling white paint on dry rotting wood;

But ‘twas more than an old house to me,

For it was there we were a familly;

Now I look all around at the boxes stacked high,

And remorsefully wipe a tear from my eye,

Because it now stands empty, no one resides.

Since the last of the family has recently died.

But the memories live on, so alive in each room,

Like an old record they play a melancholy tune.

Of a house full of memories, and a heart full of good,

From an old empty house with drying rotting wood.

Come with me inside the kitchen and feel

The remembrance of supper, the family’s best meal,

There we chatted and laughed of the day that we spend,

As we carefully recalled each others events;

The living room there where we all drew to see,

Those old clean programs on the black and white T.V.

The bedrooms were small where each of us slept.

But they were our palace, where dreams were kept;

And the front porch, it saw faces, dozens of friends,

Where stories were told, about, “way back when.”

Now you might think it quite worthless, old and no good,

Yet there stands once a mansion in that dry rotting wood.

They say a man’s home is his castle, and I now understand,

For that’s a castle to me, that old house that sits on an          acre of land.

Larry D. Sparks

1991

About Vickie’s daddy’s old house in Velma