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She
lived in a cabin overlooking a vale,
To get her fresh water, she lowered a pail,
To the valley below, to a small waterfall,
But the pail had a leak, so the intake was
small.
I
remember our visits when I was a boy,
That filled me with wonder and filled me with
joy,
To the home of the woman we knew as Aunt Maud,
And a house in the woods and a cellar of
sod.
We’d turn off the road where the
rail-line would weave,
The lane-way was long as it wound through the
trees,
Then we’d come to the cabin, all made out of
logs,
To be greeted by Bessie, her Saint Bernard
dog.
I
remember her horse, big and strong, dirty white,
But I never got close, 'cuz the horse liked to
bite,
And the car in the shed was as old as the hills,
But we knew if it worked, it would give us a
thrill.
The
rooms in the cabin were dim and so small,
And often I wondered why there wasn’t a
hall,
And the stove in the kitchen burned sawdust and
wood,
But the food from the oven was sweet and so
good.
And
late in the evening, when the sun went to bed,
We’d sit in the parlor with a fresh loaf of
bread,
And stare at the fire and talk of the day,
Tomorrow we’d leave, but I wished we could
stay.
But
the best part of all was a hike in the vale,
Through the meadow of flowers and all through the
dale,
A time to explore and let visions run wild,
I will cherish that time, when I was a
child.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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