This old house still tells of a life of its own
in tongue and groove, rough-peeled logs,
uneven poplar floors, patched screens;
each kept us mindful in constant repairs.

Feel the ones who dared live here before
in dull rappings and windful night moans.
Ancestral portraits beam or glare at our
added personality and tales to this home.

More than paint, rug or curtain we hung,
the tall fireplace and heat-shorn dogirons
were a reminder of hard day farm labor
that gave us romantic long evening fires.

Nestled in amber glow mosquito nights,
sweat pouring from every pore till dawn
light or needful awakening drew us close
once again in this house built by lovers.

Through trying times, dying times, thriving
and old quiet comfortable days reflecting
on each gift or items we collected, saved;
cold nights wrapped in treasured quilts.

Seven lucky years in an old home in Jingo
where our eyes stored memories, care in
rich joinery and artistry in true simple life
were the best years ever for a young wife.