The Old Picket Fence

by George Albert Leddy

“Tear down the Old Picket Fence,” you say?

Well, no, I guess I’ll let it stay.

I’ll patch it up and paint it white;

I guess I’ll make it look alright.

You see, that Old Fence means to me

A whole lot more than you can see.

It speaks to me of things I knew;

When fields were green, and skies were blue.

It speaks to me of long ago;

And yet it seems but yesterday:

Just Ma and me, and Little Joe;

Our Little Joe, just turning three.

He had to have a place to play;

Where he’d be safe, and wouldn’t stray.

And so I built that fence for him;

A sort o’ place to keep him in.

And in the Spring a tiny shoot,

Peeped from the Earth to seek the Sun.

It seemed to know the Picket Fence

Would make a place for vines to run.

And o’er that fence, so white and clean,

It spread a wealth of verdant green.

It seemed to know it held a grace,

To help to beautify the place.

And very soon, in brilliant hue:

Violet and rose, and pink and blue;

As if to meet the coming day,

The Morning Glories held full-sway.

And as the warm June days drew nigh,

A tiny Rosebud caught my eye.

And soon the Roses, rich and rare,

Sent their sweet fragrance on the air.

Then later came our Little Sue,

Then Mary Jane, then Little Bill;

Then Little Ruth, who couldn’t stay—

She sleeps out-yonder on the hill.

We used to gather there each eve,

We felt she’d like to have us near.

But Mother’s sleeping with her now;

I’ve been alone for nigh a year.

I see it now—that fence so white;

The Morning Glories all abloom;

The Babes we loved a-playing there;

The Roses in the month of June.

And Mother waiting by the gate,

To greet me at the close of day;

To tell me all the pretty things,

That she had heard the Babies say.

Ah, yes, I see it all again—

The yard is strewn with baby toys;

The swing beneath the Maple tree;

The dolls for girls, the carts for boys;

The happy children there at play—

The children now, all gone away.

Ah, yes, I guess that we must be

Content with life’s sweet memories.

I know we’re getting pretty old;

That Fence and me, we’ve had our day.

So just a little loving-care,

To keep us happy, while we stay.

I’ll patch it up, and paint it white;

I guess I’ll make it—look alright.

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