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The Old House on the Hill

It looks lonely, that old house on the hill.

Not long ago there were children playing in the yard,

Playing pitch and catch or perhaps stroking a purring cat

While their Mother toiled in the garden and their Father worked in the barn.

It looks lonely, that old house on the hill.

Where are the cows in the pasture or the hens and the roosters for that matter?

Or the aunts, uncles, and cousins who always visited when we were making hay?

It looks lonely, that old house on the hill.

The garden is gone where Mother spent her summer waking hours till bed

Raising food for her family and for all who needed to be fed.

She only asked for enough strength for the day

 And a few song birds to sing to her along the way.  

It looks lonely, that old house on the hill.      

She now works in her heavenly garden, planting onions and carrots and sowing some lettuce.

Gardening to Her was never work but a source of joy and fun

As she returned praise to her Heavenly Father for the rain and sun.  

James R. Bupp this Mother’s Day May 11, 2014

In honor of my mother, Dorothy E. Yoder- Bupp, 1909-1992