The Old Bungalow

An octagonal verandah
Wide steps below
Polished red oxide floor
Shining with a glow

A large leather settee set
A round table in the midst
With tiger claws at it’s feet
Clasping a globe

Brown wood all around
Smells really good
Framing French windows
With clear panels of glass


Etched in my memory
Looming the house stood
Once it was my home
Now it’s on my mind

In its place stands a tower
Glass and steel and chrome
Looks cold and menacing to me
Just doesn’t have the charm

Gone is the grass-covered lawn
And the roses that surround
In its place is a car park
Space well utilized

They tell me it’s progress
Maybe I do agree
But somewhere in my heart's corner
Looms the old Bungalow