Memories Live On, Though Houses Be Gone

Old wooden houses In need of a paint According to the authorities The red faded roof The white peeling walls The veranda worn bare By the children who lived there And under the floor, thru manholes and more They got a fright, One night When they went in to fix Whatever was wrong And found the hut we played in The blankets and rugs, food Matches for the stove Fearing a burning end Scolding, ashamed 'You must never go ... Under ... the house again' Years later The bulldozer came But our memories remain Verandas we played on The hidden door We laughed on the veranda Climbed on the rails Felt the smooth wood Of the porch Our bare feet squealing with excitement Only now I can see An old memory No inkling back then Of the times that would change No inkling back then Of the memories of our games When they told us their memories It was like a distant land We would never go there The past is the past, unravelling just so ... Children will usually go ... somewhere ... When told not to go. Trees gather closely to the lovely wooden frame The long hallway beckons, It's skittles again!