This little house is a souvenir –
Of a home now gone – yet still held dear.
The wood used here is hard and old –
But it sheltered our family – from rain and cold.
This depicts the place where we lived till grown –
And while awfully crowded – it was truly a home.
Material things were not for us –
Just necessities – never mind the fuss.
Seven children for Mom to clothe and feed –
To send to school and hope she’d succeed –
In raising and keeping us together –
Until we were grown and nicely feathered.
Then one day the last one left the nest –
And Mom could now have some peace and rest.
Then in ’77 with some sighs of lament –
Our house had earned its retirement.
And in its place there is another –
A new house built there – just for Mother.
Is she glad we’re raised and far away?
Well, I’ve heard her on occasion say –
“I’d like to turn back the hands of time,
Have them little again – this brood of mine.”
And with our memory – comes a special knack –
To recalling the past – turning the ole clock back.
Letting thoughts wander – to days gone by –
Recalling with a smile or perhaps a sigh –
Any place, any time to select –
Hope for years your memory will be kept a-bobbin –
Along with this tune of The Red, Red, Robin.
Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill
Copyright Roy Richard