On every street there's a certain place <br />Where the children gather to romp and race; <br />There's a certain house where they meet in throngs <br />To play their games and to sing their songs, <br />And they trample the lawn with their busy feet <br />And they scatter their playthings about the street, <br />But though some folks order them off, I say, <br />Let the house be mine where the children play. <br /> <br />Armies gather about the door <br />And fill the air with their battle roar; <br />Cowboys swinging their lariat loops <br />Dash round the house with the wildest whoops, <br />And old folks have to look out when they <br />Are holding an Indian tribe at bay, <br />For danger may find them on flying feet, <br />Who pass by the house where the children meet. <br /> <br />There are lawns too lovely to bear the weight <br />Of a troop of boys when they roller skate; <br />There are porches fine that must never know <br />The stamping of footsteps that come and go, <br />But on every street there's a favorite place <br />Where the children gather to romp and race, <br />And I'm glad in my heart that it's mine to say <br />Ours is the house where the children play.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-children-play/
