This little house may be minute
Positioned next to yours
But, her walls still stand resolute
With warmth inside her doors
Her paint might serve to show her years
Her roof might need repair
Yet, however her shell appears
Her heart has not seen wear.

The legacy of this small home
From attic to foundation
Remains despite how far I roam
From her quiet location
This is the place where I was reared -
The site where memories grew
Where dreams were honored and revered
And morals remained true .

This little house may not be blessed
By eaves that reach the sun
But, once her value is assessed
When her last day is done
Her heritage will show the world
She kept her soul intact
By giving love with arms unfurled
To settle what she lacked.

© 2007 – Jill Eisnaugle’s Poetry Collection