The Little Old House....

The little old house sits alone
once it had a woman to call it's own
But circumstance took her away
Now the roof is sagging and the grass needs mowing
Windows dirty without light showing
The porch steps are cracked and weeds grow through
Now the little old house remembers and sighs
And wishes there were never any goodbyes
It remembers the soft sounds of humming
And food on the stove cooking
When company was coming
How it longs for the lilting laughter of family and children playing

It remembers it's woman and the many times it heard her praying
And her soft songs of lullaby and nursery rhymes
As it sits alone and remembers the good times
Thirty-five years...my how they did fly?
And the wind in the willows...why I do hear them cry?
They must miss her as I do...
If you were a little old house...you would too.


Bonnie Ray
© 2003 used with permission