Earl & Eliza Halls

How The Old Town Would Seem To Me

As I sit and rock in the evening,
With a baby on my lap
While to him I am softly singing,
My mind will wander back.

To the old town I used to live in.
How many years ago? Just three.
And now I am going to tell you,
How the old town would look to me.

The first place my mind naturally wanders,
Would, of course, be to my Dad’s.
The grove, the grass, the millwheel,
The pond where trout are to be had

I guess I’ll have one for breakfast!
A treat, too, but I stop quite still and stare.
The old, tumbled picket fence has vanished,
A new one in its place, I declare.

Now through the gate I wander.
The old berry bushes have vanished with the fence.
And look at that garden! Seems it takes so much space.
Or is it me that’s dense?

No. But what is that new building?
This I must not dodge.
Must be for farm machinery.
Oh no, it’s a new garage.

But now my mind has shifted
To uptown streets unchanged.
Soon my old chums I’ll be meeting.
Here’s some now, but how they’ve changed.

At her side walks a man called husband,
And a baby, perhaps a year old that day.
Where are the rest of the boys and girls?
All married and moved away.

Now who is this fine looking youngster?
I again stand still and stare.
One of my little Sunday School pupils,
He used to be, I declare.

To them I’ll be forgotten,
But I’ll forget them never,
For their innocent upturned faces,
Are stamped on my mind forever.

On through the public square I wander,
Somewhere a new monument stands.
Why here’s the old baseball diamond,
And the stand that was never grand.

Across the street I linger.
The schoolhouse looks just the same.
I think of the days I spent there,
When I was called by my maiden name.

Here’s the same old church house,
Where hours I used to spend,
And now my old time playmates,
Their children to that church send.

I look upon the choir.
The faces are not the same.
I look at the congregation.
It is so much changed.

The old town seems so lonesome,
And I imagine a little sad.
Did I hear someone whisper?
“To war we sent our lads.”

The young girls are lonesome without them,
Some to high school have been sent.
The others their country are helping,
To performing tasks they are bent.

The town ditch, the stores, the barbershop,
The confectionary all seem the same.
The ring of the blacksmith’s anvil,
Is not the least bit changed.

Some of the old folks are missing.
I suppose you would say they are dead.
But look, thus an hour I’ve been musing,
I must put my baby to bed.