If you love old houses, as I do, you will appreciate this poem by Frederick W. Branch. FULFILLMENT The man who built this house of mine A hundred (two) years ago, With Christian doors of smooth, clear pine And chestnut timbers, row on row, Whose oxen hauled the bricks and lime, Who squared the hearth’s broad stone, Could not foresee that Fate and Time Would someday make it all my own. He must have known that it would stay, Here, on its sturdy sills, Long after his last Spring should lay Her fragrant mornings on the hills: So, even if he didn’t know Just who its owners were to be, I’ll still maintain that, years ago, He planned and built this house for me.
Posted on: Mon, 03 Feb 2014 14:39:25 +0000
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