All the Houses
The houses there, all in a row,
watch all their people come and go.
They tend the things left there, inside,
with loving arms and a touch of pride.
The houses know just what to hide
when wooden doors are opened wide.
The houses there, all in a row,
when all the street lamps are aglow,
will shield their people, safe inside,
from all the evil they've left outside,
but now and then, a house will hide
so much pain and sorrow, born of pride.
Stately houses, with painted trim,
have seen the joy and known the grim.
They've watched the people come and go,
hurried youth and the aged, slow.
They will never tell, will never show,
those secret things you'd like to know.
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