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 it’s 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 it’s 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