A Haven From Life's Storm
This old house out in the country
Surely, isn't much to see,
With it's sagging walls and chimneys,
Yet, it's still a home for me.
It has served a useful purpose
For a hundred years, or more;
And has welcomed many faces
Through it's wide and gracious door.
Like a mother toiling ever,
It has lost it's shape, once trim,
And it's style is long outmoded
By more youthful ones with vim.
Now it sits on it's foundation,
Sinking slowly in the sand,
Tired from all it's years of serving;
How it needs a helping hand.
No, I would not take a million
For this tired old place of mine,
Because a house is really home
When it has weathered with the time.
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Comments about this poem (A Haven From Life's Storm by Joseph Anderson )
- In Living Memory (11-22-63), John F. McCullagh
- Music, Fatima Nusairat
- what swanky sap is this?, Mandolyn ...
- Natural, David Chap Bottoms
- I end poem, hasmukh amathalal
- here's my armadillo, now get me a pillow.., Mandolyn ...
- A, Vera Sidhwa
- With her ability, hasmukh amathalal
- Inhuman way, hasmukh amathalal
- THERE IS…, michael walkerjohn
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