Father's House

In my father’s house were many classes Every room worked like hourglasses Father’s room taught the sting of cane Mother’s room was class to douse pain We sometime called it reconciliation lane We must have wearied her with much complain Sitting room was our power house Though it came with many layers It gave power for morning and night in prayers There, we learnt to view and change the players It doubled for children as class of players Since outside world was meant for slayers Now, I miss my father’s house The kitchen was sometimes to tease As we learnt her skills like apprentice It sometimes turned out a bore When it turned out a class for chore The bathroom was fun as a kid As tons of soap with water ran And water game was fun to lead The hot bath of seasons of harmattan Made bath as fun as sun tan So much lessons in my father’s house No matter the cause of the grouse There’s always a sweet word to douse The embers of ragging brows Honour, to every gown Is to properly kneel down Strength, to every trouser Is to not be a rabble rouser In my Father’s house We had not much for a title A little more than a church mouse But happy and gay in our beetle In my father’s house Right is right and wrong is wrong And it’s same for old and young To that we never raised our brows Do I miss my father’s house? I’ll replicating it in my house