This Olde House

Away out up in the California Mountains
Where for miles the eye can see,
Stands a weather beaten farmhouse
Beside a lonely tall oak tree.

The many years of changing seasons
Have turned the old house drab and gray,
It no longer holds its tenants
That once made it bright and gay.

It was built by hands of kindness,
Loving thoughts with every nail.
But now it stands lone and deserted,
Weather worn by wind and hail.

Former Owners have left it
For a Mansion in the sky,
All the younger ones have scattered
Across the seas and mountains high.

The old house is now a memory
Of the years that long have flown
Though it is old and doors are falling
Precious memories call it ‘’Home.’’