Little Cabin in the Woods

Little Cabin in the Woods

By Jen Donier, Copyright August, 30th, 1984 

There's a trail that winds to a place that I know;

Where squirrels play in trees and a cold spring flows.

A little cabin sits forlorn,

In the sunlight of the early morn. 

Nestled in among the trees;

Home of birds, mice and bees.

It's sighless windows curtained with cobwebs;

And grown over with columbine and roses red.  

Honeysuckle hangs across the door;

Blackberry vines cover the floor.  

The hinges are corroded with rust;

And everything is covered over with dust.

It's chimney has crumbled down;

The logs are rotting into the ground

Termits have chewed at its beams;

Gone to decay are someones dreams.

It's shingles have nearly all blown away;

Owls and spiders have come to stay.

It looks so sad sitting alone there;

No one to give hope or tender loving care.

Good-bye little cabin, I'll come again;

Now I leave you to the wind and the rain.  

I wrote this in 1984 after I frequented a meadow like area where there sat a dilapitated old cabin someones homestead long abandoned.  There was an old orchard long neglected.  The trees were gnarly and had not been pruned for years.  A lot of wild flowers and vines took over the cabin and I always wondered at the story behind it.  So I wrote the above poem about it.