VAGRANT VERSE

Southland Times, Issue 18619, 18 August 1919, Page 4

VAGRANT VERSE

HOUSES. (Written for the Southland Times.) They’re pulling down an old house in th« The walk,’ the roof, the windows—all come And is'so much cheap rubbish—nothing Carted away for firewood. And I feel A sadness for the useless piled-up planks, For were they not a part of someone’s life, Shelter and comfort and a dream of home? Windows that looked out to a friendly road. And doors that welcomed laughter, noise, and youth, Or sorrows shared if only with the walls— The sun-ray slanting thro’ the shaded pane, The front gate opening to the town outside. The new house will be stone and neat and trim, But it can hold no tender memories, It will be cold, official, just a place Of ranges, baths, electric light, and paint, Brazen and modern to a modern world, A flaunting new thing shouting boastfulness. Yet I would pull my life down like a house, And build it up again right from the earth With every brick new-made, and every door Open to wisdom and to high success, And so But choice is never made by men, One must accept his place as kings then thrones. —S. G. August. Invercargill, August 17.