Friday, November 13, 2009

The little stone house

The stone house down the road

Where the fire was lit by the

Farmer's wife while he tended

The livestock and planted the

Crops to fill the cupboards, crops to

Sell to buy the fancy window

Hangings she fancied down at

The general store that made her

Feel as if the house wasn't so

Plain and the floor weren't cheap

Planks loose here and there that

Creaked each time the children

Ran through the house stopping

Only long enough to grab a quick

Bite and change out of their

Fancy school clothes into their

Chore clothes, she barely saw

The children now they were older

Except for Sundays after they

Did their knee time down at the

Church, they'd fill the little

House back up with laughter,

The fire would be lit,

Papa would sit in his rocking

Chair near enough to singe

His whiskers, he had no

Idea how old he looked

Nor did she, they had

An unspoken agreement not

To let any looking glasses into the

House, the small house which

Creaked and groaned its

Loneliness in the night

The kitchen which never

Saw a hungry child

The big room in the front

Where they gathered in the

Cold nights around the fire

Before going to one of the two

Little bedrooms to sleep

Warmed by the closeness of

Each other dreading the

Call of nature in the middle

Of the night having to get

Dressed and creak along

The house, out the back

Door, down the little path

To the little shack hoping

There was still a page of

The Sears catalogue left

And then back in the house

Every plank letting the rest

Of the family know you

Made back in safe

And sound into the

Little stone house

That was so cold

In the winters

Yet was so

Warm in their


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