Poetry Sunday

Patty Sue, about 1956

This is my next youngest sister, probably about 1956. Mother always bundled us up within an inch of our lives; I imagine if the poor child fell in the leaves she'd have a real problem getting back up.

It's fun sometimes to look in the background of these old pictures. Behind her is the old outhouse. When we moved into the farmhouse, and our grandparents built a new house at the end of our long gravel driveway, my parents had plumbing put into the house. Because it had formerly been a bedroom, our bathroom was larger than most. But even though we had indoor facilities, we kept the outhouse for years. When I was in college the youngest siblings donated it to a homecoming bonfire. I guess it wasn't that decorative anyway.

I like this little poem, even though the poet has an unfortunate name.

November Night
by Adelaide Crapsey

Listen. .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees
And fall.