September 27, 1973
Save me! Moaned the little red house,
….With eyes of wrinkled glass.
Save me! Groaned the old floor boards,
….Pegged in centuries past.
My olde fire-bricks have collected dust,
….Since Canton was a babe.
Yet still I am, despite the rust,
….Homespun as Honest Abe.
Surely there's a place for me,
….On dear Olde Ragged Row.
(It wasn't quite so classy in,
….The good ole days you know.)
In some towns I'd be greatly cherished,
….For being a prized antique.
But here it seems I'm doomed to perish.
….Wilt no man in my favour speak?
If only Master Tilden wouldst,
….Come back and set me straight!
Or some kind townsman wouldst decide,
….A happy noble fate…
One befitting my many years,
….And not a plowing under.
(Can't you see my eaves have tears?)
Save me from the wreck and plunder.