Contributed by MARCIA PHILBRICK.

The Little Gray House

There's a little gray house nestled down 'neath the trees
It has stood there many a year.
And the roses blooming 'round the yard
Send their perfume far and near
And a gray hair woman sits alone
On the porch when the day is done.
And softly croons a lullaby
As she thinks of the absent ones.
For there was a time when the house was new
With its trees so young and small.
It so o'erflow with riotous youth
It scarce could hold it all
For often would the wall resound
With girlish laughter sweet
And there were sturdy boyish shouts
And the patter of baby feet
There came schooldays hurrying by
With the scramble for book and slate,
And the frantic search for coat and cap
For fear they would be late.
Then when school days are over,
Each takes up his own task.
Then by the window a coffin stands
For death comes in masked
Then the house sees happy brides
Going out to make new homes
so one by one they leave the nest
Till mother sits alone.
But once again the walls resound
With girlish laughter sweet,
And there are sturdy boyish shouts
And the patter of baby feed.
And the gray haired woman is busy now
No longer she sits alone
But still she hums a lullaby
For the grandchildren are at home.

~Josephine Winifred Hammond Crawford

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