My one hundred and seventy year old house....1847.
If you could speak, what tales you\'d tell,
My little house, with the big door bell.
Four windows to, the world you view,
All those that walk, includes me and you.
One hundred and seventy, years you\'ve stood,
Through times of famine, and times of flood.
From cobbled street, to pavement smooth,
From a Horse and cart, to vans that move.
Watching children, with both doll and ball,
Seeing soldiers march, armoured vehicles roll.
From first day break, to last nights light,
You watch it all, our happiness, our fight.
You where built back in time, from materials new,
You where Built to last, built for all to view.
I know not how, many more years you\'ll last.
But when your gone, we\'ll lose another window, to our past.