Anne Oswald
More than Just a house (Poem)
My home is my family’s outer skin;
its strong backbone and sturdy foundation.
It’s not a bricks and mortar lifeless place,
but has a real character and a face.
The face is weathered and wrinkled with age.
Windows are eyes that twinkle in the sun.
An outstretched greeting arm is the garden path.
The door’s cracked open in a smile not wrath.
Its character is warm, steadfast and wise;
Watching us grow, blossom, ripen and fade.
Our hopes and dreams in its memory it holds.
Our secrets it stores but will not unfold.
Yet empty now, the beating heart has gone.
The fledgling offspring have flown from the nest.
The embers are dry and black in the grate.
Bricks and mortar again, left to its fate.
More than Just a house (Poem)
My home is my family’s outer skin;
its strong backbone and sturdy foundation.
It’s not a bricks and mortar lifeless place,
but has a real character and a face.
The face is weathered and wrinkled with age.
Windows are eyes that twinkle in the sun.
An outstretched greeting arm is the garden path.
The door’s cracked open in a smile not wrath.
Its character is warm, steadfast and wise;
Watching us grow, blossom, ripen and fade.
Our hopes and dreams in its memory it holds.
Our secrets it stores but will not unfold.
Yet empty now, the beating heart has gone.
The fledgling offspring have flown from the nest.
The embers are dry and black in the grate.
Bricks and mortar again, left to its fate.