Contributed by MARCIA PHILBRICK.

Answer to the Playhouse under the Porch

I saw the little story
   Of the playhouse under the porch.
And as I read it over
   Memory flamed up like a torch.
And I thought of another playhouse
   Of a long ago day
Where my boys and their little neighbors
   Often came to play
Some days they played so happily
   With cousins and little friend
And some days there were squabbles
   That Mother had to end
Now, the playhouse is forgotten
   The boys to manhood grown
Are scattered. Some are far away
   With children of their own.
One, dressed in a soldier's uniform
   Sleeps the last sleep of all.
While we still thought him only a boy
   He answered his country's call
So, Mother, be very thoughtful
   For the mudpies by the door.
I often wish my boys could be
   Playing under the porch once more.

~Josephine Winifred Hammond Crawford

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