Whenever I walk to Suffern along �the Erie Track

I go by a poor old farmhouse with �its shingles broken and black.

I suppose I've passed it a �hundred times, but I always stop �for a minute

And look at the house, the tragic �house, the house with nobody in �it.

I never have seen a haunted �house, but I hear there are such �things;

That they hold the talk of �spirits, their mirth and �sorrowings.

I know this house isn't haunted, �and I wish it were, I do;

For it wouldn't be so lonely if �it had a ghost or two.

This house on the road to Suffern �needs a dozen panes of glass,

And somebody ought to weed the �walk and take a scythe to the �grass.

It needs new paint and shingles, �and the vines should be trimmed �and tied;

But what it needs the most of all �is some people living inside.

If I had alot of money and all my �debts were paid,

I'd put a�gang of men to work �with brush and saw and spade.

I'd buy that place and fix it up �the way it used to be

And I'd find some people who �wanted a home and give it to �them free.

Now, a new house standing empty, �with staring window and door,

Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, �like a hat on its block in the �store.

But there's nothing mournful �about it; it cannot be sad and �lone

For the lack of something within �it that it has never known.

But a house that has done what a �house should do, a house that �has sheltered life,

That has put its loving wooden �arms around a man and his wife,

A house that has echoed a baby's �laugh, and held up his stumbling �feet,

Is the saddest sight, when it's �left alone, that ever your eyes �could meet.

So whenever I go to Suffern along �the Erie track,

I�never go by the empty house �without stopping and looking �back,

Yet it hurts me to look at a �crumbling roof and the shutters �fallen apart,

For I can't help thinking the �poor old house is a house with a �broken heart.

� � � � � � � � � � Joyce Kilmer

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GRAPHICS BY SPANNER