This Old House

There are so many memories that linger here,
And generations long gone feel so near.

The old who visited here in this loving home
No longer on this transient earth do roam.

The young who laughed, cried, and played here
Rarely find the time to travel back to this sphere.

The dirt on the walls have been painted over anew,
But there's still an overwhelming sense all through,

That this is the very same special space,
Where the family children all began life's race.

As we open a window and look up at the sky,
Life is like a tapestry of all the years gone by.

You might hear a beloved old pet barking,
Or see Grandpa in his stamp book marking.

The boys playing outside with a bat and ball;
Dad bending over planting another tree in the Fall.

Mom knitting an afghan beside the warm hearth;
Prayers coming from deep within someone's heart.

What lies ahead in this old house's future?
Will other children laugh and here mature?

May all those who live here tomorrow
Find love and faith to cope with any sorrow.

And as we say goodbye to this house and land,
We will walk away holding our loved one's hand.

We rejoice that we have memories close to our heart,
And we commit to always faithfully do our part

To make sure all hear about God's amazing grace
In the new home we will call "our family place."

The riches that this old house to us did bring
Can not compare to being a child of the King.

For this very moment He is preparing our new house,
That we never shall replace like we do this old house.


By Alan T. Stokes   August 23, 2000

Written for my parents, Richard and Margaret Stokes, as they are preparing to move from the family home of 25 years that I grew up in.