The old Neighborhood A Story- Poem

The old Neighborhood.

I return to my childhood once again.

My memory it seems has become my best friend.

It’s not the houses I’ve lived in, that bring back fond memories to me,

It’s the family, the friends, and the food, that matter most to me.

It’s the old neighborhood.

It’s the park around the corner where my friends and I played ball.

It’s the hot dog stand down the street, sauerkraut, mustard, and all,

That bring back fond memories to me.

It’s the old neighborhood.

It’s the bakery that I visited, once every week.

I can still taste the donuts they sure were a treat.

It’s not the houses I have lived in, that bring back fond memories to me.

It’s the family, the friends, and the food, that matter most to me.

It’s the old neighborhood.

It’s the candy store, with the hershey bars, the pretzels, and the chips.

It’s the home where Archie, and little Lou-Lou lived,

It’s the place where I bought my pick up sticks.

It’s not the houses I have lived in that bring back fond memories to me.

It’s the family, the friends, and the food, that matter most to me.

It’s the old neighborhood.

Its Saint Cecilia’s down the street that we went to once a week, to raise our voices, and praise the Lord, for all of his blessings, great, and small.

It’s not the houses I have lived in that bring back fond memories to me,

It’s the family, the friends, and the food, that matter most to me.

It’s the old neighborhood.