I think of that small house we owned
In that happiest time of all,
When love was new and enduring
And our children exceeding small.
The quiet peace of our first home
Could still inhabit those listening walls,
Spreading its sweet tranquility
With echos of love in its halls.
Does someone still wait by the garden gate
And a tiny face press the pane;
Anticipating the moment when
His car heard in the lane?
The auto door slams and arms enfold
And all weariness goes away.
A child laughs and a big dog barks.
He is home from his long work day.
This is my prayer for the little house
That so long ago earned its way.
May only love be spoken there
As it was in that bygone day.
By; Joyce Johnson