• I As I walk in the door of the antique house
    I see on the floor a scurrowing mouse
    I hear the floor creak as I walk on its’ boards
    And I wonder what this house has in stored

    Cob webs hang on its’ tiffany glass
    And on the floor lies dust and trash
    The stairs do not look safe to climb
    And the house looks to have lost to time

    But all these things pales to its’ glories
    For this is a house like the ones written in stories