Its yellow with white shutters
With flowers in clusters,
Surrounding the big green yard
A rocker outside, wooden and bold
So one can get busy growing old
With a cabinet of homemade jams jared

A big garage to the right
To work and play in at night
Filled with half done projects and dust
Oil, gears, and  tools to carry
Every man’s sanctuary
With broken machines and the smell of rust

A tire swing swinging
Child’s laughter ringing
Around the maple tree outback
River flowing nearby
And a kite flying in the sky
The small orchard outfront brings a snack.

A garden planted where
the sun is fair
And the pathway to it is curved
Inside there are colors
Hypnotizing to others
And a pump for water to be served

Ivy streaming up the walls
Vines curling as they crawl
Like the Christmas lights of spring
The windows glisten
As the residents listen
To the song birds in their nests sing

A winding staircase inside
With secret compartments to hide
Countless precious or priceless things
While happy photos paint the walls
And the small vases in the halls
Hold flowers with petals like butterfly wings.

The living room displays a simple radio to see
Which winter replaces with a Christmas tree
Beautiful music is played every hour
And depending on the season
Or any other special reason
The joyous residents will sing with notes sour

Food on the table
A comfy couch for cable
As the pie sits on the window to cool
A cookie jar ready to serve
But only given to those deserved
And the sweet smell could make anyone drool

In the study, take a look
To find a shelf full of books
Some are worn from use, others are untouched
All are worth a read
To a hungry mind to feed
And an old diary nearby waits to be clutched

Paintings strewn all around
Bought, handmade, or found
In rooms decorated with western antiques
Family heirlooms displayed
Heritage; dusty, old, and frayed
Proving that each family's history is unique

But at the heart of it all
At the back of the wall
Is the cradle thats held so many a child
And when death takes its toll
And captures the parents’ souls
Perhaps, the children will cherish something so mild

And the house and the cradle will hold many more