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The House Behind the House

 

 

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.

 

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.

 

Ours was a three-holer,

With a size for every one.

You left there feeling better,

After your usual job was done.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

I recall the day Granddad,

Who stayed with us one summer,

Made a trip to the shanty,

Which proved to be a bummer.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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,

 

With both feet on the floor.

Then filled his pipe with tobacco,

And struck a match,

on the outhouse door.

 

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.

 

 

The Blast that followed, I am sure,

Was heard for miles around;

And there was poor ol' Granddad,

Just a'sittin on the ground.

 

The smoldering pipe was still in his mouth,

His suspenders he held tight;

The celebrated three-holer,

          Was blown clear out of sight.

 

When we asked him what had happened,

His answer I'll never forget.

He thought it must be something

That he recently had et!

 

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!

 

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!

 

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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