All the days of my childhood,
Spent in the house upon the hill.
Cherished moments so dear to me,
Lovingly I think about them still.

It was far from a mansion,
But at least it was our very own.
And Momma worked so hard daily,
To make it into a loving home.

In summer the field was filled,
With yellow buttercups in bloom.
And tranquil was the sound of rain,
Pattering against the window in my room.

Running through the meadow,
As the grass brushed against our legs.
And waking up in the morning,
To the smell of Momma’s ham and eggs.

The creek there over yonder,
Barefoot we would wade.
Acting silly and laughing loudly,
As we splashed about and played.

The breeze felt good as it blew,
Throughout the house upon the hill.
And everyday daddy worked hard,
Down at the local towns sawmill.

The weeping willow we would climb,
Wondering if it could really cry.
A robin would sing his song,
As Momma hung out our clothes to dry.

Rocking chairs and many babies,
The house had seen within its time.
And tomatoes grew in the garden,
Along with rosemary and thyme.

How beautiful the sunsets were,
Citrus colored in all of its glory.
And every evening Momma would read,
To all of us a bedtime story.

Days of adventure in the sunshine,
Within its warm golden glow.
Treasured and precious memories,
I remember of a time so long ago.

Within those four walls you’d find,
Happiness but most of all love.
Be grateful for your blessings Momma said,
And always give thanks to the Lord above.

Now the house stands alone and empty,
There is no more laughter in the air.
Decaying wood and broken windows,
Showing forlornly its wear and tear.

All the days of my childhood,
Spent in the house upon the hill.
Unlike the badly faded wallpaper,
Fade away,
My Memories Never Will.

©Elizabeth Ann Bushey
April-12-2007©
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