White House

On a lonely road near a river’s flow, the white house peacefully sleeps.

In fields of green it can be seen, among hills of valley deep.

While the past was loud and history proud, now in quiet waits.

With loving care to keep it there, and soothe its aging aches.

When first it stood to do its good, the farm life was its toil.

Home for hands who loved the land, and faithfully worked the soil.

So many young both work and fun - never was life dull.

Standing proud as voices loud, gave the rooms their soul.

Until one night fire bright, rent apart the place.

The dancing light, lit up the night casting shadows on worried face.

An anguished brood, what would they do, without their humble home?

But soldiered through til good as new, and the mess was fully gone.

Then far away a war was waged and with it rations needed.

The farm provided and all delighted as the nation’s request was heeded.

Years moved on, and with family gone brought a different sort of pace.

Birds, mice, and other sights settled inside the gates.

Rodent marred, the house stood guard over the farm land left forgotten.

Until long days passed and then at last, the floor afresh was trodden.

Occupied anew with much labor to do, to repair her former luster.

Though sometimes slow as progress goes, a new chapter has been ushered.

Now she stands looking proud again restored to former glory.

And from far away they come and stay surrounded by walls rich in story.