Author Information
MISS MARY
Miss Mary lives in a big white house
behind a cast iron fence
and tho no one goes near the place
to her it makes good since
I went there once, some time ago
to see what it was like
and there she sat all starched and prim
dressed in victorian white
Her shoes were grey and very old
and buttoned to the top
her hat had roses 'cross the brim
with a feather in one spot
She held a fancy teacup in her hand
from whch she drank her tea
and when she spied me coming up the walk
she invited me
to sit beside her for a while
and rest myself a spell
she poured for me, a cup of tea
and said she had things to tell
We sat and talked of old time things
beside a latticed door
and she told me things about our town
I'd never heard before
she told me of fancy buggy rides
and ice skating in the pond
she smiled as she thought about these things
of such memories she was fond
She remembered when the circus camee one day
with roaring lions, clowns and big black bears
and when the peddler man came to town
selling all his wares
she took me then into the house
with dark wood panels, scroled in old time style
with pink wall paper faded dim
but the gold still shined upon it
tho it had been there quite a while
Miss Mary limped a little
she said t'was arthritis in her spine
but she said she got along real well
there was no cause to moan or whine
she said sometimes if it got bad
she'd take some pain powder,
like her great grand ma had made
some times she said, it didn't help to much
so she just sat down and prayed
A crystal chandlier where candles burned
hung from the ceiling, elegant and grand
and an antique lamp all fringe and lace
sat on an oval stand
She told me of the Christmas's she remembered
when she was very young
she told me of the tinseled trees
and the carols that they sung
She told me how her Poppa hung the stockings
by the mantle over there
and how the children watched him
peeking from the stair
she smiled as she remembered
rich egg nogs and her Momma's big fruit cake
the presents piled beneith the tree
and the Christmas cards they used to make
The rich smells coming from the kitchen
ginger bread and cakes and pies
cherry drops and mints and fudge
to light up childrens eyes
She remembered the Christmas music
that the old victrola played
and painted wooden soldiers
that her great grand pa had made
She told me of her first real beau
oh, he was such a handsome man
he once gave to her a diamond ring
that she wore upon her hand
Now she took it from the dresser drawer
and held it to her breast
for he had died in France in World War One
and she dabbed at her misty eyes
with a handkerchief old and pressed
Her kitchen with the ancient stove
smelled of cinnamon and spice
the blue willow dishes in the old side board
looked so delicate and nice
She showed me now the living room
with ceilings twelve feet high
and a grand piano stood there
imported from England in eighteen ninety five
there were two matching antique chairs
bright with tuffed blue brocade
with some old and ancient pillows
that her great Grand Ma had made
She showed me large old fashioned books
all gold and leather bound
history books, old cook books, and novels of ages past
What treasures she had kept around
she took me to the attic then
to show me more great stuff
old trunks, dated dresses, all on stands
I just couldn't get enough
a cuppord of old photographs, letters in a box
her Poppas old grey uniform
and a pair of baby sox
spinning wheels and butter churns
and cast iron pans
giant water pitchers they had used when she was young
hand painted and so grand
Her mother's wedding dress hung there
all satin lace and trim
her christening dress lay in a box
with ribbons pink and thin
She showed to me her grand pa's desk
an old scroll type affair
antique fountain pens and old ink wells
and stationary in a box, just like he'd left it
way back there
boxes full of old post cards
from eighteen twenty four
and love letters wrapped up in ribbons
in the safe beside the door
and old wire cage hung on the back porch
she said t'was bought in eighteen ninety three
her pa had bought a singing canary
but she had set it free
and old photograph hung upon the wall
of a young girl blond and fair
she siad t'was her at age sixteen
and from the day they brought it home
it had always hung right there
Now as I thought to take my leave
she said, Please don't go
today is special, don't you see
today I'm a hundred years old
and there's no one left who would remember
who could celebrate wih me
They say the day that I was born, the warm sun filtered down
and the honey sucle was in bloom
and no one wore a frown
Then a sweet smile crossed her wrinkled face
and she was lost in thought
of the simple happy life she'd lived
and all that time had brought
Then she took me up long winding stairs
to a bedroom up above
to see the big four poster bed
where she'd been born
t'was a house then, filled with love
and as I left she said to me
please come again, my dear
for my days are long and lonely now
and will always be, I fear
all my friends have lived and died
and no one ever comes
and I sit here listening to the ticking of the clock
and do it sun to sun
And so I told Miss Mary
as I went on down the walk
that I would come again the next day
and we'd sit and reminesce and talk
