The Strange Little House

Past the east edge of town where the grass starts to curl

Find a winding dirt road that’s designed to confound

There you’ll find a strange house and a strange little girl

If she’s in the right mood she might show you around

She might start in the garden with all the raised beds

Filled with juniper bushes so she can make gin 

Or her park full of art with its hundreds of heads

They’re all sculpted in silver and copper and tin

She’ll point out the parapets high overhead

With a couple of cupolas crowning the crest

There are dozens of dormers with lintels of lead

Where the pigeons all preen and the nightingales nest

And then if you’re lucky you’ll stop by the pond

It surrounds a small island with one mighty oak

But don’t get too close, cause the little girl’s fond

Of pushing folks in - her idea of a joke

But once you have dried she might take you inside

Through the cavernous kitchens with odors galore

Of the foods she has baked and charbroiled and fried

You’ll be fed some of each, then she’ll offer you more

And then when you’re done you’ll move to the next room

It’s the library piled with books to the sky

There are lamps all around to dispel any gloom

If you read like I do then you might start to cry

And she’ll show you the rest, it will all be a blur

Of fountains and music and even a hen

Then she’ll drive you back home with herself as chauffeur

And she’ll say, “Thanks for visiting. Don’t come again.” 

(This poem was inspired by a girl at camp this week who loves saying the word "cupola" over and over. The phrase "a couple of cupolas" became stuck in my head and I built the rest of the poem around it.)