By Margie Bobbitt Spencer © 1984
Issue: November, 1984
This rustic old house stands quiet now
Her empty rooms resound
The brighter days, and merrier ways
When the children were around.
They each have taken separate paths
To find their place in life,
And we remember the days gone by
With all their toil and strife.
It seemed the noise would never end
As each one did their bit,
They gaily sang, their voices rang,
We thought they would never quit.
But now the quiet atmosphere
Is all that we can hear,
The marks on the wall help us recall
Those days we hold so dear.
We wish they could return again
And fill this house with laughter,
But they are gone to carry on
And find their own green pasture.
We know it's true we can't recall
The days that have gone by,
But once again we yearn for when
We heard our babies cry.
Editor's Note... This poem was sent to us by Mrs. Roy Blackburn of Lambsburg, Virginia who said, "I'm enclosing a poem my 77 year old mother wrote, after the last of the 10 children she raised left home. We celebrated my parents 60th Wedding Anniversary August 4th this year and she gave me this poem."
Thank you for sharing the poem with our readers. It puts into words what many of us feel when our children grow up and leave us "mother hens" with an "empty nest." I'm sure there are just as many fathers that feel the same way too. Thank goodness for grandchildren!