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THE LITTLE INN
Little inn beside the roadway
nestled neath a spreading oak
sheltered from the storm's of winter
by the branches leafy cloak
Where the sun shines down in summer
and blue birds nest benieth the eve's
there mourning doves call low of evening
before the cool night does relieve
White paint glistens in the sunlight
blue shutters rattle in the breeze
and stew pots bubble o'er the fireplace
with savory smells, the nose to please
The stage coach rumble's down the old road
with rutted trails from winter rain
and rooms with soft beds, await weary travelers
lit by the candle' golden flame
An orange tree stands near the old inn
with white blossoms, oh how sweet the smell
a pleasant place to stay and sit awhile
and know that all is well
The inn, a place to rest from weary traveling
inside a sheltered firelit room
a place to sip a little toddy
then on the road again too soon
A place to wash the dust and gravel
from off tired feet and face
a place to stretch the legs and pick wild flowers
inside the inn's secluded space
And for all who linger here while traveling
the welcome sign hung on the door
giving peace and warmth to all who entered
no traveler could ask for more
