The House at the End of the Road
A place...just MADE fer livin'...
NOT fancy....three SMALL rooms.
A hillside....ALWAYS stocked with goats...
An' plants....with fragrant blooms!
A livin' room...an' kitchen,
A room with ONE old bed.....
Which held the entire fam'ly....
(We slept.....at foot an' head.)
'Facilities'....were...by a path....
Up yonder....on the hill.
Until we built the one...inside...
The outhouse....filled the bill.
No water pipes came in the house...
'Till I was nearly grown.
(Cold water...on the back porch
Was all I'd ever known.)
We NEVER felt deprived....or poor....
Nor saw the need to 'fuss'....
Our friends....all 'social equals'...
'Got by'....the same as us.
Now....pleasant mem'ries....fill my mind,
Of that place....just MADE fer livin'
At the end of that....dirt road.
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So many of us have had similar experiences and are better off for them. A sort of rustic nostalgia creeps into the poem.
Funny! I think you just described my great-grandparents house and life! :)