I like old houses, with steps that sag,
And worn picket fences running zig-zag
Like little children playing tag.
Happy old houses, with thresholds worn thin,
By young ones and old ones who walked out and in.

I like old houses, that squat in the rain,
That have welcomed the years and sheltered the pain
Of knowing they wait for a loved one in vain.
Crazy old houses that bask in the sun,
Browned like a crusty, flaky bun.

I like old houses that patiently wait,
For a new friend's hand on the creaky gate—
Knowing that love is never too late.
Houses sagacious—like prophets of old;
Knowing so many things they never have told.

I like old houses, with steps that sag,
And worn picket fences running zig-zag
Like little children playing tag.
Happy old houses, with thresholds worn thin,
By young ones and old ones who walked out and in.

I like old houses, that squat in the rain,
That have welcomed the years and sheltered the pain
Of knowing they wait for a loved one in vain.
Crazy old houses that bask in the sun,
Browned like a crusty, flaky bun.

I like old houses that patiently wait,
For a new friend's hand on the creaky gate—
Knowing that love is never too late.
Houses sagacious—like prophets of old;
Knowing so many things they never have told.