There is an empty house
Beyond the lane,
And there no cat or mouse
Will come again;
The family is scattered far and wide
That there in by-gone years did reside.
Here once the children played,
The father worked;
The mother bonnags made
And no job shirked.
But now the only children here-abouts
Throw at it stones or pass with jeering shouts.
It seems as if it waits
The turn of key,
To nurse within its gates
But no-one ever comes to warm its bones;
It waits in vain, a yearning in its stones.
More years will pass it by ;
It will decay.
Its roof will be the sky,
Its light the day.
Then who but I shed for it a tear?
I, too, will moulder with another year.
Mona’s Herald 18.6.63