This Old House
I am an old house, forsaken, window pains broken, roof leaking, cobwebs everywhere; the wind whistles around the corners with a wailing, mournful sound. In the yard some old-fashioned flowers still bloom in the springtime--lilacs, jonquils and roses. But weeds grow all around.
Time was when this was a happy home. Children romped and laughed, and songs echoed all around. They walked home from school--in the snow, perhaps, had a big time with their sleds. At chore time they helped feed chickens, gather eggs and carry in the wood as their father chopped it. Always, when spring arrived, preparations were made for a large garden. Plowing for farm crops and gardens was done with a team of beautiful horses.
This old house had no modern conveniences. A cellar kept the milk and butter cool, and for storing fruit and other produce. There were no cars in that day. All activities were in the community where there were "singings," parties.
Not far away I can see an old school house, which was also used as a church. It, too, is an old landmark, fast going to decay. These old landmarks will soon be gone. Nothing will remain other than a memory for the older folks.
Back to the old house: The children who have families of their own, and live in nice homes, come past. As they gaze upon this old house they recall their happy childhood days. They think as goes the song, "Don't need this house no longer; don't need this house no more. Ain't got time to fix the shingles; ain't got time to fix the floor."
When we trace with retrospective eye the scenes of the past, memory adds new color to the events which, at the time, did not strike the mind with much force and brilliance.
"Oh, my old cottage home
That stands on the brow of the hill,
Where in life's early morning I used to roam,
But now all is quiet and still."