Old house with all your memories, of years fleeting by you. Sheltered, all the children as they laughed, loved and cried. I loved your winter warmth, old house, and your summer shade. The feather beds, the kitchen stove, the quilts that mama made. We always loved your every room, run down as they would be, the front porch swing, the picket fence so sweet now in my memory.
Stone Angels guard the gates of a beautiful garden. I walk down the path, past them. Do they watch me as I pass? Rain clouds start to appear and an old tree provides me with shelter. But what's this I see, past the roses? An ancient fountain dry of water.