The Cabin

There's a cabin in a meadow,
Nestled close against the trees...
Scraggly flowers still are growing,
And wave gently in the breeze.

  The logs are weathered, far from new,
Give off a pungent smell,
From wood that's old, yet has withstood,
Decades of years quite well.

  The craftsmanship speaks highly,
Built by determined man...
Who kept it's lines quite simple,
Did not use a floor plan.

  By standing quiet and listening,
I can almost hear him say,
"My love this is your brand new home,
It's here we'll always stay.

  The main room is for cooking,
The view is down the hill...
The fireplace will warm us,
Against cold winter's chill.

  There's a tiny room just for us,
That will hold a metal bed...
Our kids will climb the ladder,
To the loft that's overhead.

  They will sleep on feather pallets,
That encase them in their down...
There is space for all our laughter,
But there's no room for a frown."

  I wonder who those people were,
And where they may have gone...
Still there is evidence of them,
In cabin that stands strong.

(c) 06/24/05 Loree (Mason) O'Neil

E-mail Loree

Please visit her wonderful Website.

Poetry by Loree

Used with permission

Thank You So Much Loree,
For Sharing This Wonderful Poem


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