Restore life to old houses, old folks and old memories. Donna J. Fennel
THE HOUSE THAT HISTORY REMEMBERED® My original, sentimental poem dedicated to an old house in our valley that is currently undergoing restoration by the vast labors of love performed by my friend, Mike Mikesell. This is, unquestionably, one of my favorite original poems to date honoring Harmony Center. Authored by Donna J. Fennel on this 28th day of November, 2004.
Revised by dawn's early light just for you on May 27, 2006.
She has slept here for years, ‘midst primordial pastures ~
Her weatherworn face has embraced grace of rising suns.
A body weary from tempests dreary she patiently endures ~
Yet her frame remains untamed, for freedom she finally won.
Tho her battered body has survived two centuries of time ~
One can still hear her specters recollecting their glory days
Who are loyal guardians and keepers of her secrets sublime ~
Phastasms of her chasms silhouetted in sunset’s resting rays.
She knows there are no locks upon her decrepid, dusty doors ~
Merely wide and open stores for wayward visitors to explore
Whom she beckons, without shame, to spend a night or two ~
And would be pleased to appease if you shared her lofty view.
Ah, I was once her visitor, while seeking my own distant past ~
Upon entering her chirmed chambers, I witnessed an anomaly.
For within her hallowed halls hauntingly echoed a child’s laugh ~
Perhaps a vagabond spirit earthbound from a chapter in history.
She has been maimed by her mildewed walls and jagged flag stones ~
Yet no forest beasts have crossed her clock’s ceaseless monotones
Whose drones have echoed eerily throughout emptiness of rooms ~
Perhaps as a reminder time escapes her towards impending doom.
Donning apron of ivory, while dusting and dowsing her abode ~
Is a veil of winter solstice snow here, there, and along her road.
Chores inside decrepit doors leave her verily weak and consumed ~
While she waits knowingly for woodland pests to enter her rooms.
Enters scorching summer tide, when her windows must abide ~
To invasion of midnight ravens, or bats that happen to fly astray.
While in her loft, pigeons own nurturing nests crafted with pride ~
As her graying roof remains aloof, ‘mongst this wilderness array.
Yet autumn is her holy hour, when she elects to yawn and awake ~
To panoramic views that breath take, palettes of vibrant hues.
Vivid leaves adorn her balding crown in such a colorific quake ~
As she casts her restored reflection in yonder pond of arctic blue.
Alas, birth of spring fosters sorrow and woe in her sunken eyes ~
As she yearns for her frame to turn into that of her younger days
While witnessing all alive and anew, her mood is balefully blue ~
And a lark’s spry lullaby makes her cry 'midst the mum displays.
Day arrived, when a passerby determined to renovate her charms ~
Appeared a gentleman, who knew her days were verily numbered.
Yet he respected her antiquity enough to preserve and not disarm ~
Her golden age, as time turns another page while she slumbered.
Now he deemed it proper to protect her seasoned doors and walls ~
Standing as sentinels, quite proud that they survived historic fall.
And chose to add vintage furniture, lending ambience to her allure ~
Enmeshed in elegance by a Nordic stove that would grace her hall.
Husband and I yearn so to grace her frail face of peaceful place ~
With period pieces from her days that were, yet not invade or stir
Her solitude or pulchritude, for she has earned her peaceful days ~
Allowing sustained slumber, for her days are no longer numbered.
Comes soon the dreamy dawn, when she will awaken with surprise ~
To find that one so kind took the time to restore her dignity and pride.
For without his love and tender toil, she would have spoiled and died ~
She is SO deserving of this splendor, instead of burning to an ember.
Even an old, decrepit house should be pampered with doting dignity ~
Who knows what souls had thrived in this abode when she was new?
Perhaps it could have been one of your ancestors in Ozark history ~
In spiritual Harmony, she is hereto free to claim her heritage true.
Yes, this is the house history remembered lost in Harmony valley ~
Despite her haunting anomaly, her soul deserved to be set free.
She will recall well the loving, laborious hand of Mike Mikesell ~
Who, upon her, cast his spell to make her well and her heart swell.
Every soul, including hers, yearns solace ‘midst an earthly dominion ~
Lest they become tortured spirits, like the fate of this harrowed home.
Know that God worked through Mike, welcoming his humble opinion ~
To renovate, as best he could, this dying swan to her dignified throne.
Now when we stroll through the valley towards this house to explore ~
Her doors restored beam and beckon like a lighthouse on the shore.
For because of Mike’s dedication, she welcomes all with such elation ~
And shows ardent appreciation, knowing she will never suffer anymore.
What was once a room replete with gloom, now swoons and sashays ~
As she segues towards pride at the fancy chairs and stairs in her lair.
What was once her bald head has now become a roof of thickest spread ~
All who deemed her as dead now run with dread, for she was reborn today.
I cried after I wrote this, because I was so touched by the continued restoration of this old house and the diligent dedication our neighbor and friend, Mike Mikesell has committed towards its glorious renaissance. May this old house, as it breathes new life and hope into our hearts, outlive Earth time as we know it.
"God Bless those who take the time to restore life to old houses,
old folks and old memories."
~ Donna J. Fennel ~
"One's castle royal is where his heart remains loyal."
~ Donna J. Fennel ~
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