Forty Pounds of Nails

My father built our family home
And with every nail he pounded
The love, the strength, the youthful pride
On which our home was founded.

The rooms were filled with bubbly laughter
Our childhoods full of glee
And when I was four, we moved once more
My brother and sister and me.

Our house was put upon a truck
We watched it climb the hill
And even now some fifty-eight years
The memory's with me still.

My mother did not pack a thing
Of this we oft' have spoken
And when our house arrived intact
Not a single thing was broken!
(A testament to my father's skill...our home was built quite level)

In 2010, when I heard the news
Our house was all aflame
I hurried to my childhood home
And all that was left was the frame.

And I saw those forty pounds of nails
That held our home in place
And I felt the great love of my father
As the tears streamed down my face.

Diane Lyndon
December 12, 2016