This old house
Built back in 1862
If these walls could talk
The things they could tell you
They've seen it all
From tragedy to love
The secrets they hold
They'll never tell of
They listen and hear
All the crying at night
Nothing they can do
But hold out the light
They've kept us warm
In return for the times
They've been our mother
In our darkest nights
They never criticize
For all our mistakes
They just swallow us up
Each morning as we wake
These old walls
I have to say have been good
They stood and listened
When no one else would
It seemed at times
They almost came alive
When I'd break down
Four walls almost seemed five
They've heard the joy
They bare the hand prints of
The kids when they were little
Now they're all grown up
This old house
In an odd way has been my friend
Never had to say I'm sorry
For a birthday card I didn't send
I guess you'd think I was crazy
If I thanked them for all these years
For the good times and heartaches
For all the laughter and tears
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem