The House That Bob Built

To begin my poem, there are no words.
My feeble attempts are for the birds;
Not just a house of lumber and nails,
But precious memories and tales
Come from the House That Bob Built.

This man is gifted in many ways,
For never were there boring days.
Four girls he fathered, then his son;
I had it best, in lines, I’m “one,”
Born in the House That Bob Built.

The man is born of flesh and bone,
With a heart that has forever grown
To love the children, gifts from God,
Equipping them, this earth to trod.
A legacy of the House That Bob Built.

Although the years have flown right by;
Keeping us laughing, sometimes we sigh,
But never will his light go out,
His legacy lives, there is no doubt,
Because we’re the House That Bob Built.

Scared Spitless

Halloween brings back memories of my dad, who loved to scare the trick-or-treaters.
He would put shaving cream all over his face, and when they came knocking on the door, he would jump out from behind the door, both hands in a grabbing position and growl at the kids, with the poor trick-or-treaters running for their lives.
It was so funny to us, and I am grateful I never knocked on a door and was greeted by such a thing as my dad's shaving cream mug staring back at me....I would probably still be running.
One thing I've thought about, though.
I'll bet he didn't have to spend much on Halloween candy........