(An NLP Editor's Choice Award Winner in Verdant Lands of Spring) They are tearing down my Grandfather's house, <br />it's made of wood and brick and stone. <br />The windows they've removed. To them it's real <br />estate, to me it's my heart being ripped in two. <br />The realtors, the bankers, the moneymen don't understand. <br />A house is more than made of wood, a house is made of man. My Grandfather's house is a memory that will <br />endure after it's torn down. <br />He's been gone for near thirty years, but his <br />house had lived on. <br />I know the world is made of change, and change <br />is all that's real. But one thing I cannot change, <br />that is the way I feel. I wipe a tear in the falling rain, <br />because they are tearing down my Grandfather's <br />house, and it gives me pain. <br />I love him as if it were yesteryear, <br />his wit and smile as warm as the sun. <br />The house once stood to remind me, but that too <br />is gone. They are tearing down my Grandfather's house, <br />it's made of wood and brick and stone. <br />Yet a house if more than made of wood, <br />a house is made of love.<br /><br />David A. Webb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/they-are-tearing-down-my-grandfather-s-house/
