A home with a crooked spine

Bent and notched with age

Painted walls wrinkled and worn

With telling marks of time

When the years come and go

And thatched roofs crumble

Or wallpaper peels

And wooden steps rot and buckle

At least the foundations will remain

A pitted depression in the ground

Filled with fragments of memories

Recollections of babies rocking in cradles

Late Sunday brunches

And lazy legs slugging to school

This place

With its chipping wooden fences

And crayon stained walls

Will forever and always remain

An ancient relic of the very beginning