This old house out in the country
Surely, isn't much to see,
With it's sagging walls and chimneys,
Yet, it's still a home for me.
It has served a useful purpose
For a hundred years, or more;
And has welcomed many faces
Through it's wide and gracious door.
Like a mother toiling ever,
It has lost it's shape, once trim,
And it's style is long outmoded
By more youthful ones with vim.
Now it sits on it's foundation,
Sinking slowly in the sand,
Tired from all it's years of serving;
How it needs a helping hand.
No, I would not take a million
For this tired old place of mine,
Because a house is really home
When it has weathered with the time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem