The House. Poem by Sandra Kavanagh Josefsson

The road was long and winding,
with every step it led me closer to my destination.
My anticipation grew stronger on finding
the house of my fascination.

I had been there many years before,
when it was new and had a green door.
Now it was covered with cobwebs and old decay.
The window glass was broken and the brickwork was grey.

This house of memories where I played when I was young.
Where my grandmother cooked and baked.
Where the flowers had always sun.

Where my granduncle gardened and raked
and told stories of France.
Oh I wish that I could go back in time, only just for
one day and enjoy their company once more,
if only I had the chance.

Verse: Sandra Kavanagh (c) .