OLD BRICK HOUSE

It was ages ago

But my mind recollects these memories once more

I can still hear the laughter from it's wooden door

The dancing footsteps on the floor

And my father's voice cloaked in a snore

My favourite window

With the view of the weeping willow

And cast form above;

The chimney's shadow

Not too far from our garden of potatoes.

Mother was always up by cock's crow

On the wooden table she patted the dough

While my little sister hid below

Devouring the cookie she stole

As my uncle, on us bestowed;

The tales of our Aunt Monroe

The one that relentlessly chased after Singor Gennaro

The charming Italiano

These times to me, were slow

And the ears of these bricks were opened to the stories we told

Oh how did we get so old?

And now time taunts us as though we are it's foes.

But my dear, let me rest these old bones

It's time I went home.