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The Old House Beside the Road

There is an old, ramshackle house that stands there by the road.
This house once had a family, with many stories stowed
Within its crumbly walls, and it now stands there all alone,
With gardens dead, untended yard, and weeds much overgrown.

The broken windows, tilting shutters, steps that rotted down,
And paint that once was bright and white but now shows dingy brown,
Would cause most people to ignore this rundown old abode,
This old ramshackle house that stands just there beside the road.

An ancient giant willow oak looms o’er the dried-up well,
And just beyond, there hangs an old and rusty dinner bell,
A frazzled rope with rotted seat shows where a child had swung.
Around in back, a wagon stands with half a broken tongue.

I wish this house could talk to me
And tell me how things used to be,
How happy it was when love flowed
In this old house beside the road.

I think this house has heart and soul with many tales that lie untold.
So many things that it might say, if only it could speak today.
For now, I’ll just enjoy my thoughts of all the things that time has wrought.
In this dear old, rundown abode that stands beside the road.

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