Wood House

I wrote this to my parents to thank them for building the home we grew up in. I hope you like it.

Wood House

Early in the 80s, this house was made of wood,

And though it changed to brick since then, the name has strangely stood.

Tucked away in woodland, choked with bracken bogs and briars,

It’s found past potholed dirt tracks, unkind to impatient tyres.

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It took you two to see that you could call this place your own.

And with some love and effort you could make a house, a home.

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You pictured parties for your children; 40-40! Run and hide!

Then throwing them round in a trailer, the traditional tractor ride.

You thought of lazing by a lake drip-fed by chalk-filled streams,

As the family dog, watched ducks swim by, then chased them later in his dreams.

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You saw fir cone-fuelled barbecues, slowly cooking charcoaled-dinners,

Beneath branches twisted tightly, like gnarled arthritic fingers.

You heard rip-roaring dinner guests, and drunken ‘Old-man Rivers!’,

And knew it a place for a whiskey chase, toasting those, no longer with us.

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You imagined swapping fireside stories, outstretched legs intwined,

Having almost finished the crossword on the back of the Sunday Times.

And you knew that you’d be happiest here, among the little things you love,

For little bridges crossing little streams, is happiness enough.

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It took you too to see that you could call this place your own,

And with some love and effort you made this house, our home.

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Hopefully this is right, first time posting.