All We Can Ask For

 
The house is growing old and looking sad.
Its roof is leaking, many slates have gone.
It's lost the cheerful look that once it had
when it was sound and life inside went on.
Its hearth is cold, no fire is blazing there,
the paper peels, unrolling from the wall,
the windows blind, the battered floorboards bare,
now only echos echo in its hall.
The house remembers, though, a better time,
the better days when it was full of light,
the happy days when it was in its prime,
it pays no heed now to its sorry plight.
It's had a life with love in large amounts,  
and when it's time to go that's all that counts.  

🏚️