Pictures of Home

The hinges on the door are worn and rusty Its windows cracked, the floors, faded and dusty The front porch swing lies crumpled in a pile With mud daubers claiming the bathroom tile The fireplace brick cast in impotent disarray The wallpaper peeling in a mournful display The stairs and its banister ripped apart in divorce Time stops for nothing, it's taken its course Weeds set up residence where roses once grew The trees bent and broken that the wind blew through I let my mind drift to a happier time As I stare at those trees that I used to climb I put oil on those hinges every Spring and Fall Mama waxed the floors and I'd skate down the hall On that front porch swing I stole my first kiss Who could have known it would end up like this? I would run up those stairs and slide back down 'Til Mama would shout and scream with a frown Now broken and battered, just barely a shell It still paints a picture with stories to tell