The Little Old House by the Side of the Road

I recall camping by the Chesapeake Bay,

Near a little old house where I wished I could stay.

It wasn’t fancy and needed repair,

It was next to the water in the fresh Maryland air.

My imagination was creative, I envisioned residing,

In that little old house with clapboard siding.

Where if I lived I could step out on the sand,

At the waters edge on my own piece of land.

As time passed by I forgot that house,

 My ambitions grew when I met my spouse.

I wanted the best that money could buy,

A big house, a boat, and airplane to fly.

Having had all of that, perhaps more than I ought,

I am reminded of the house I wish I had bought.

I could be watching boats anchored or under sail,

 And envision adventures becalmed or in a gale.

Just a few small rooms and one step to the beach,

Albeit still standing, it’s now out of reach.

Alas and alack it shall not be my abode,

 That little old house, by the side of the road.