It is a sad tale that I have to tell, many memories rush through my rooms, like the cold winter's wind, and when sun sets, those dark nights always multiply my gloom.
I remember the little girl playing in my brightest room, her busy fingers moving about her coloring book, while she sang nursery rhymes, cute melodic tunes.
Her Dad was in the fields, walking the family's dog, down by the vast dunes. I could smell the pleasant pungent odor whiffing from his long curved pipe, he was recuperating from a scary ailment, with many hours
under the knife.
His red headed pretty wife was wrestling with the backyard clothesline which was being whipped by a strong south wind, she was muttering angrily after she dropped the basket of clothes, and a bunch of clothes pins flew past her nose.
It made me cry when the widowed grandmother died, as the custom of those days were, she was laid out in my parlor, flowers were everywhere, the sweet smell helped comfort the loved ones, moaning with despair.
The little girl when they brought her into the room, she froze at the sight, and blurted out; mommy, why is grandma sleeping during the daytime, and not at night?
Time passed, the little girl was now a married lady, I thought back, it was a wonderful wedding, the Groom was nervously pacing back, and forth in the much decorated back yard with it's lush green sod.
The Bride was a few miles away, at her friend's home, the smell of makeup, and powder was everywhere, beads of perspiration ran down her long red hair.
Finally a shout was made, a pink carriage drawn by two beautiful Clydesdales horses, from far out in the Glades they came, bursts of steam came from their nostrils, with the wind dancing in those flowing main hairs, the Guests were all in a uniform stare.
One day the house handyman said to the aging widowed mother, Ma'am, you have a big problem down by the bog, I was chasing a frog, when I jumped over a fallen tree, into this black smelly tar I fell, it was all over me, and smelled like hell.
Yep, oil it was, the woman was now set for life, in the Contract she had the house never to be demolished, every year the painters come to brighten up my outside with fresh paint, and varnish, to cover any tarnish. So here I stand all alone, no more singing, or telephones ringing, just a lonely old house, me, and one skinny mouse.