The old red brick house, with worn and beaten windows,
Still stands on memory lane. My first stop is the kitchen,
Where mom is in her apron and the smell of bread is baking.
My next stop is the family room, where I can still hear the
Laughter, of mom, dad and my sisters, while playing games
And listening to the stories that dad used to tell.

I am upstairs in my bedroom, when there’s a knock at the

Door, it’s mom with a smile and a warm glass of milk, with

A hug she tucks me into bed, and is off to my sister’s rooms,

With a smile, warm milk, a hug, she tucks them into bed.

I am back outside the house now, but it’s always good to

Know, I can revisit the old red brick house on memory

Lane at any given time.