Old House

A monument of service,
So stately, in its prime.
Now old...and so deserted,
With weather-stains of time.

T'was built in pioneer days,
Sheltering a happy brood.
With-in its walls...a haven,
When Indian-bands pursued.

Now, its roof is leaning,
The shutters loudly beat.
When someone enters there,
The rats and mice retreat.

It surely, saddens every heart,
To have, old-things decay.
For the new things that are coming-up,
Something must make way.


E.P. 1908 - 1989