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Title: The Little House
Author: Fay Inchfawn [
More Titles by Inchfawn]
One yestereve, in the waning light,
When the wind was still and the
gloaming bright,
There came a breath from a far countrie,
And the ghost of a Little House called
to me. "Have you forgotten me?" "No!" I cried.
"Your hall was as narrow as this is wide,
Your roof was leaky, the rain came
through
Till a ceiling fell, on my new frock too!
"In your parlour flooring a loose board hid,
And wore the carpet, you know it did!
Your kitchen was small, and the shelves
were few,
While the fireplace smoked--and you
know it's true!"
The little ghost sighed: "Do you quite
forget
My window boxes of mignonette?
And the sunny room where you used to
sew
When a great hope came to you, long ago?
"Ah, me! How you used to watch the
door
Where a latch-key turned on the stroke
of four.
And you made the tea, and you poured
it out
From an old brown pot with a broken
spout
"Now, times have changed. And your
footman waits
With the silver urn, and the fluted plates.
But the little blind Love with the wings,
has flown,
Who used to sit by your warm hearth-
stone."
The little ghost paused. Then "Away!"
I said.
"Back to your place with the quiet dead.
Back to your place, lest my servants see,
That the ghost of a Little House calls
to me."
[The end]
Fay Inchfawn's poem: Little House
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