Something is wrong at our house,
	Something big and sad,
We have lost the art of smiling,
	The art to make one glad.
The sky is blue as ever,
	And Sweeter the thrushes song,
But out at the place that we call home,
	There is something decidedly wrong.

Out her its fine, the trees are green,
	Birds song far and near,
But we lack the love that makes a house a home.
	We need mother here.
One with an understanding heart,
	And a smile that’s full of joy,
One that can heal little hurts,
	And understand a boy

It’s mighty lonely at evening time,
	When the lamps are burning dim,
And older folks just sit and read,
	With never a thought of him.
They never think of his grief or joy,
	Because they never had a bot.
They never think the days are drear,
	Without the love of mother here.

It seems to me it’s been a year,
	Since mother went away,
Last night the folks all said to me,
	It’s just eight weeks today.
I hope she’ll hurry and get well,
	The home won’t be so drear,
But Gee it’s lonely at our house,
	Since mother isn’t here

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934
January 1928

Copyright Roy Richard