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The Gift.

The house now stands empty
where the old folks used to be
waiting to be filled again
with the sounds of a family.

Maybe a child at play
on some afternoon
or just the sound of a radio
playing a well known tune.

I will always remember the old man
with his tales of long ago
of how he lived as a working man
and the folks he used to know.

And I’ll remember the old man’s wife
a little anxious, like she could be
but always happy to spend some time
sharing a laugh with me.

Their joy was in the simple things
like a flower coming in to bloom
the happiness in the eyes of a child
and those good old fashioned tunes.

But the greatest gift they had in life
is given by a women to a man
oh how they loved their baby girl
from the day her life began.

Now they’ve passed their gift to me
to love her as my own
for now and all eternity
so she is not alone.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Last few words: 
in memory of my wife's mum and dad
Editing stage: 

Comments

I identify with the first part of the poem as a former Realtor, I feel that a house is a living being,
still holding the essence of the former owners in the walls. I could sense all sorts of things and I was always right upon investigation.

The second part is one I cherish because my children's partner/fiance often thank me.

Nicely woven poem, and bearing precious *gift*..

~A

thank you,
Tim

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