Olden Days

• Caitlyn Bryant, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2009

Upon a hill
An old hut sits
Slowly decaying
Falling to bits

Made out of logs
Cut from trees
It's full of dust
That makes you sneeze

Theres's lots of cobwebs
Decades old
It's very dirty
And full of mould

The rooms once echoed
Full of noise
With lots of children
Playing with toys

The huts days are over
Soon it will be no more
Just a pile of logs
And a rotten old floor

Goodbye dear hut
We'll miss you so
Memories of the olden days
Will never go!