MEMORIES OF THE LITTLE HOUSE "OUT BACK"

When memory keeps me company
And moves to smiles or tears.
A weather beaten object looms
Through the mist of years.
It's architecture was a type
Of simple classic art.
Yet in the tragedy of life,
It played a leading part Hurrying feet a path had made.
Straight to it's swinging door.
Behind the house it seemed
A half a mile or more.
Here the spiders spun their webs.
To catch the buzzing flies.
That flitted to and from the house
Where Ma was baking pies.

Once a nest of hornets, bold
Built their palace there,
And stung my unsuspecting aunt
I dare not tell you where.
There in summer mornings,
All cares left behind.
We'd read the mail order
Catalogue hung upon a twine.

On lazy August afternoons,
It made a little bower
Delightful where my grandsire
Sat and whiled away an hour.
When the crust was on the snow,
And sullen skies were grey,
In sooth the building was no place
One would care to stay.
When grandpa had to "go out back"
To make his "morning call."
We’d bundle up the dear old man
With a muffler and a shawl.

I know the hole which grandpa used.
It was wide and large around.
When once I dared to sit there,
‘Twas way too big, I found.
As I jack-knifed there to stay.
They had to come and pull me out
Or I would have passed away.
Father said: "ambition is a
Thing that boys should shun.
You should use the children's hole
Till childhood days are done".
I ween the old familiar sight
Twill soothe my faded soul.
I'm now a man, but none the less
I'll try the children's hole.
E'er I die, I wish to eat the fruit
Of trees I robbed in days of yore,
Then seek the shanty where my
Name is carved upon the door.

*******************************

Return to top of page

Return to Contents Page

You are visitor number: