A Street in Lake Helen

I walk down the street of old houses and trees of green;
Wondering, over the years, what each house has seen.
Did they see children at play years ago with a tin can and a stick?
Or a little bare foot boy teaching his dog a new trick?
I look at the intricate architecture of the houses’ eaves;
And the beautiful pattern the architecture weaves.
Each house is unique as it stands there;
Showing its own personality as I stare.
Some have had little care, giving them a sad old look;
Like their pride has been stolen from them by a crook.
Others stand proud with their bright shining sides;
Saying “Look at me as I stand here with pride!”
The trees hang over the yard with limbs swaying;
Under them, it’s a place for children to be playing.
The houses see different games being played now;
And also they no longer see the horse with his plow.
Many years have gone by since these houses were new.
How many stories and secrets are kept from me and you?
I would love to talk to the houses and get the truth;
Of what really went on when they were in their youth.
I guess I can only wonder and give a big sigh;
About all the things these houses have seen in the years gone by.