My Playhouse


Was it really all that long ago-

Leaves were butterbeans and mud was dough?

An orange crate was an icebox -a box was a chair,

Long days spent in my little house without a care.


I'd be up with the morning sun each day

In my playhouse till the last departing ray.

People probably thought what an awful sight,

But to me, it always looked just right.


Everyone would lend a hand.

Mother would save a box, a bowl, a can.

Now of what use can these possibly be?

I'd say "Mama just you wait and see".


The box was a table from the furniture store.

The bowl was for mixing and so much more.

The can was a rare vase from France.

That's where my husband and I would go to dance.


Now I wasn't all alone in my little home-

There was my friend Juney by the telephone.

My sister would ask "Where is she?."

I'd say "Sitting right there, can't you see?"


My dishes were broken, my boxes crushed with rain.

My little friend Juney vanished, I can't explain.

I long for her to return once more-

We'll rebuild my little house better than before.