I grew up on an island in Placentia Bay until Resettlement 60 years ago. We lived in a two-story saltbox house, me my parents and four brothers. Sometime ago me and my husband were out for a drive and I saw a house that reminded me so much of my childhood home. I wrote this poem as if the house were speaking to me.

Once I was brand new, my frame was firm and strong,
A loving couple came to me, and my walls echoed a song.
A fire warmed my inside, and the smell of food was sweet,
Soon there was a joyful sound, a patter of little feet.
I was in my prime as I stood there, firm, proud and tall,
Sheltering my family from snow, wind and rains that fall.
The Holy Book lay opened to the pages worn and read,
I heard the prayers of them all, as they knelt beside their bed.
I loved the different seasons as they came and went,
My family and friends had so much fun, in the time we spent.
The Christmas trees, Easter eggs and summer time too,
Gathering firewood and bringing water, always lots to do.
There were Birthday parties and homework, and hours of hop-scotch,
And singing on the old swings, it seemed they'd never stop.
But the years quickly passed, the children are grown and gone,
The loving couple no longer live, and no one sings a song.
The delightful patter of little feet, a sound I hear no more,
How I wish to hear them, as they'd rush inside the door.
Here I stand with memories, that will forever stay with me,
I wonder if someone else will come and start a family tree.


Submitted by: Tish Trowbridge