My home is not all that big,
Nor is it all that small,
It's beg enough to move about,
Shelter friends when they call.
 

My House has so many things,
I've gathered through the years.
It's been a happy home for me,
But not without some tears.
 

It's old and sturdy and very strong,
And made of field weathered stone,
And covered with a siding white,
The only home I've ever owned.
 

It has black shutters by the windows,
In front a little fence white.
The garden goes untended now,
Cause I can't do all I'd like.
 

It sets upon a hillside,
A river runs below.
I can watch barges ply that river,
Prettiest spot I know.
 

It's not too small for love to grow,
It holds so many things,
And treasures only I can know,
My soul's contentment springs.
 

My home is plain as plain can be.
But it has warmth and love for which
That contentment can ever dwell,
And make the poorest cottage rich.
 
 

                                                                                FEBRUARY 19, 1988