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.
Darkness all around, violence the only sound. The light walks and the darkness knows it not. Day by day, they all fall and here in the light I stay. Warning the children of their wayward ways; hoping they hear and will turn away.