THE OLD YELLOW HOUSE ON THE HILL

THE OLD YELLOW HOUSE ON THE HILL

My old house upon the hill
I know it's still standing there still
Now it's covered with white siding
THe old yellow paint nicely hiding

Out back is the gigantic spruce tree
From its lofty heights forever I could see
Eight pear trees we also had
I loved to climb them when I was a lad

A goldfish pond from an old sink was made
Around its edge I often played
A long sloping yard at the house's side
Made a nice place on a sled to slide

Plenty of grass we had to mow
With the old push mower, it went kind of slow
Working in our garden of vegetables and flowers
Often filled my summer hours

A fireplace and a flag pole stand
Made from rock and cement by my mother's hand
A second-hand bike is what I rode
And a flexible flyer after it snowed

These are the things I recall with ease
These are the pleasant memories
But all was not rosy on Montague St.
Life was not all happy and sweet

The house was at least one hundred years old
The second one in the area I was told
In the unfinished cellar one could see frayed wire
I was ever afraid we would catch on fire.

To imply all was great was not my intent
Home was where many lonely hours were spent
Seldom did my friends play with me there
We ALWAYS seemed to go elsewhere

Missing was a devoted Dad
That I saw all my friends had
I suppose to others I seemed happy outside
But in my soul I'd already died

I guess if I have to tell the truth
For the most part I had a happy youth
And it still gives me a little thrill
To remember the old yellow house on the hill