THE DESERTED HOUSE

I know not why it stands afar,
I know not why it's so alone,
all the doors now stand ajar;
what's a shack now was once a home.

I wonder who the deserters were,
I wonder, oh, I do!
I wonder who had no heart to care
for the old house that once was new.

It has no one to shut its doors;
it has no one for company.
It has no one to sweep its floors;
it has no one to plant a tree.

There's no one here to paint its walls,
no husband, son, or wife;
no laughter echoes down its halls,
there's no one here to give it life.

If but a tramp would pass by someday
who had no shelter from the rain,
he could stop awhile on his weary way;
the old house would be of use again.

Whether bad or whether good,
it shelters creatures all the same.
If I were a tramp, I know I would
stop by out of the rain.

Copyright 1949 Ruth Gillis

(I wrote this when I was a very young girl).


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