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.
In honor of my mother, Dorothy E. Yoder-Bupp, 1909-1992
On Mother’s Day May 11, 2014 James Bupp