PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

But some are wrapped in mystery,

Boast  charm peculiar,

These houses have a legacy,

You can sense it from afar.



The little house of which I speak

I special so to me,

It’s yellow and stands near a creek,

Close by an apple tree.



Frau Essigmann, - the landlady

Of ours for seven years,

Loved little cats with fervency.

But had of Ghosts great fear.



It‘s haunted“ so this lady  said,-

Ghosts roam at times my house”

When with my bike I entered late,

So glad to greet my spouse.



Her house held fine antiquities,

From which some guests were barred,

Her needle pointed tapestries

Were done with skill and art.



The lady was selective she

Scanned carefully her guests,

If ignorant of artistry

That graced her walls and chests.



Ah!- needle point, with patterned seam,

Embroidered with yarns of gold,

That modern chaps fail to esteem,

Their mothers are at fault.



Across the meadow one could see

Distinctive an abode

Which housed a famous family

That sang for men and God.



hey featured in a movie soon,

“The Sound of Music” called,

The practiced mornings until noon,

And hearers felt enthralled.



The movie became famous since

Von Trapps sang everywhere,

For paupers, big shots, and some prince,

Cantata, Song and Air.



But I digress,- Frau Essigmann

Loved cats above all else

And oft adorned them like the cows



With alpine little bells.

She knew all herbs, and wholesome teas,

And was the dowsers’ friend,

Knew medicinal roots wherewith

Grave illnesses are banned.



And rows and rows of recipes,

Could on her shelves be found,

Of medicinal herbs and teas,

Fresh dug out from her ground



Of costly incense smelled our house,

Which Mrs. Essigmann splayed well,

And wafts of it and of the cows,

Helped spooks and ghosts dispel.



Lo! with her censer to and fro

Went Mrs. Essigmann,

Who trusted Java incense so

The Poltergeists to ban.



And sprites and ghosts that roamed our house

And other spirits more,

That rivaling with lowing cows

Our crochet curtains tore.



The cows on grasses had their fill

And peacefully lowed Moo!

And then approached our window sill,

And stuck;their heads right through.



Moo-moo! was heard in every room,

As they would stomping pass,

Through  flower beds, in fullest bloom,

And  luscious high grown grass.



Nearby the farm house carrefour,

Young  tourists strolled at night

To pick up ghosts and cow manure

And free steaks large and wide.



This house does have a history,

Of  which to tell I am loath,

And honoring - hush --secrecy,

I henceforth shut my mouth.