It’s Just a House
It’s Just a House
It’s just a house A house is a place, an abode, a home where day by day memories roam.
It’s just a house. It’s knick-knack filled, with nooks and crannies, closets and shelves, an extension of ourselves.
It’s just a house. It’s not just tables and lamps, washers and dryers, chairs and beds, pots and bowls. It is the palette of our souls.
It’s just a house. It’s where we sit and sleep, dress and eat, watch and read, grow and age, writing our chapters page by page.
It’s just a house. It’s where halls and stairs resonate, sounds echo and whisper, joys and fears of the little and old who are our dears.
It’s just a house. It’s dens and porches, kitchen and baths, attic and basement, rooms living and great. Where we, prayed and played, slept and wept, cried and laughed, met and ate and made the future wait.
It’s just a house. Where we gave and forgave, loved and were loved, swung from and learned the ropes. It’s where we planted dreams and hopes.
It’s just a house. To a man it’s a castle, a fortress, a monument. To a woman it’s a heart, her expression, filled with sentiment. To children it’s security, love, family, and memories intimate.
It’s not just a house. it’s home.
K. C. Barry
