A “house” isn’t “home”  ‘till you’ve lived there –
And just “living” won’t make it a home.
You have to share “sorrow” and “laughter” –
You have to cease caring to “roam”.
Each little “whatnot” you gather –
And bring home to sit on a shelf –
Will deepen your sentiments greatly –
And add to your “home” of “yourself”.
As the years roll along into decades –
The “creaks” you have heard all the while –
Will no longer be such a nuisance –
Now they will bring forth a “smile”.
Each little “noise” holds a memory –
That is deeply etched in your heart –
Of the “dreams” and “cares” of yesterday –
That “time” cannot impart.
You may reminisce of a winter’s eve –
Long ago or just winter before last –
When you sat near the fire flaming brightly –
With the “future” in mind, not the “past”.
How you did “plan” in those long ago years –
And the “dreams” have come true somehow.
It wasn’t all “easy” and it wasn’t all “toil” –
But it did take the “sweat” of your “brow”.
Now the years have rolled on and “twilight” has come –
“God” and “you” have made “your house” a “home” –
“Tis now you will wander down “memories lane” –
And in “memories” you’re never alone.

Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill
Written for Connie and Sandy’s (Ewka) house warming

Copyright Roy Richard