This Shack Poem by Ronald Strickland

This shack with the marks and name's on the wall,
when each child was this tall.

The floors with a down hill sloop,
that it could easily roll a ball,
and a child's marvel could fall though the crack's.

The whistling when, the wind would blow,
would chill you down to your toes.

A flame from the lantern light so you
could see your pencil scroll.

Shadow finger puppets on the wall gave us laughter, big and small.

What's that noise in the darkness of the hall?

It's only dad! trying to scare us all.