The house was strangely still —
Forgotten for so long —
Until we gave it laughter
And a child’s gay song.
Tall weeds grew in the yard;
We dug them all away
And, bathed in summer sun,
Roses bloomed today.
How nice it must have seemed
For rooms to come awake
And smell, instead of dust,
A baking angel cake.
Had we not passed this way,
We never would have known
The way a house can smile
With folks to call its own.
[Taken from “Where Children Live” by my great-grandmother Alice B. Johnson, 1958]
Poetry by JC Snyder 
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