There was a place when I was small
Built strong and firm, no nail at all
Four rooms were there, two beds in one
Where children grew up and left...
His grandchild lay her head
on a carefully made feather bed
One room, the kitchen, furnished with skilled hands
By a man who worked and lived off the land
A wood burning stove, a table, three chairs
One for him, one for me, one for her
She left to sing
I watched her leave us sitting on my swing
There was a room for sitting
on a cold winters day
Around the wooden stoked heater we would cling
for all the warmth it would bring to our hands
Another room remained silent and locked
I was told a long time ago
a son was lost inside of it
the memory pained him so
One day... he left me as well
Never to return
I sat in my swing and listened as she said her goodbye
to the man who raised us both
without a tear in her eye
I watched as he was placed in the ground
A life lesson hard to understand at such a young age
Yet, he had taught me how to handle heartbreak
and rage...
The home and furniture built with care
was bulldozed down
Not a month had passed since he lay down
The only item left there
is my swing
Where I learned that
love means everything...
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