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One
of my bygone recollections, |
As
I recall the days of yore |
Is
the little house, behind the house, |
With the crescent over the door. |
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T'was a place to sit and ponder, |
With your head bowed down low; |
Knowing that you wouldn't be there, |
If
you didn't have to go. |
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Ours was a three-holer, |
With a size for every one. |
You left there feeling better, |
After your usual job was done.
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You had to make these frequent trips, |
Whether snow, rain, sleet, or fog-- |
To the little house where you usually-- |
Found the Sears-Roebuck catalog. |
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Oft times in dead of winter, |
The seat was covered with snow. |
T'was then with much
reluctance, |
To the little house you'd go. |
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With a swish you'd clear the seat, |
Bend low, with dreadful fear |
You'd blink your eyes and grit your teeth, |
As you settled on your rear. |
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I recall the day Granddad, |
Who stayed with us one summer, |
Made a trip to the shanty, |
Which proved to be a
bummer. |
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T'was the same day
my |
Dad Finished painting the kitchen green. |
He'd just cleaned up the mess he's made, |
With rags and gasoline. |
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He tossed the rags in the shanty hole, |
And went on his usual way |
Not knowing that by doing so, |
He would eventually rue the day. |
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Now Granddad had an urgent call, |
I never will forget! |
This trip he made to the little house, |
He sat down on the shanty seat, |
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With both feet on the floor. |
Then filled his pipe with tobacco, |
And struck a match, |
on the outhouse door. |
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After the Tobacco began to glow, |
He slowly raised his rear: |
Tossed the flaming match in the open hole, |
With not a sign of fear. |
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The Blast that followed, I am sure, |
Was heard for miles around; |
And there was poor ol' Granddad, |
Just a'sittin on the ground. |
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The smoldering pipe was still in his mouth, |
His suspenders he held tight; |
The celebrated three-holer, |
Was blown clear out of sight. |
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When we asked him what had happened, |
His answer I'll never forget. |
He thought it must be something |
That he recently had et! |
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Next day we had a new one, |
Which my Dad built with ease. |
With a sign on the entrance door, |
Which read: No Smoking, Please! |
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Now that's the end of the story, |
With memories of long ago, |
Of the little house, behind the house, |
Where we went cause we had to go! |
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For those that Never had to trot out in the Cold..... |
Just Give Thanks!!!
AUTHOR UNKNOWN TO ME |
THANKS GLENDA FOR SHARING |
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