The Bungalow Poem by Jack Worthington

It was an age of innocence
A fleeting moment in time
When hearts felt so sublime
Soon our hearts would be jaded, hardened by circumstance.

The sun set over the bungalow
Music still playing on the radio
Sunsets, as life, are but fleeting
The fear took hold of tomorrow's meeting.

The sun would rise again
But the light would be much colder
New ideas laid waste to what were men
And in their avarice they became much bolder.

The little bungalow still stands today
Seasoned by time, it's front steps now sway
Now surrounded by by hearts of stone
This little house reminds us, of when we were not alone.