New House

I went to look at elegance,
In architectural design.
I looked at carved woods...beautiful,
And then I thought of mine.

Still standing from a hundred years,
So humble in its aire.
All weather-stained...with gabled ends,
That rose up in the air.

The new abode had winding stairs,
With decks that wound around.
All shingled with high pinnacles,
In the latest fashions found.

Hard-wood floors were up and down,
With carpets soft and deep.
So someone in their walking up,
Could kneel right down and creep.

Pure elegance it was to see,
The ways that tools had shown.
And the price proved I would never live,
Nor own a mansion of my own.

E.P. 1908 - 1989

Marilyn (Ethel's daughter - and my mother) and Arnie's new home.