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Poem	I love the cheery bustle Of children round the house, The tidy maids a-hustle, The chatter of my spouse; The laughter and the singing, The joy on every face: With frequent laughter ringing, O, Home's a happy place! Aye, Home's a bit of heaven; I love it every day; My line-up of eleven Combine to make it gay; Yet when in June they're leaving For Sandport by the sea, By rights I should be grieving, But gosh! I just fell free. I'm left with parting kisses, The guardian of the house; The romp, it's true, one misses, I'm quiet as a mouse. In carpet slippers stealing From room to room alone I get the strangest feeling The place is all my own. It seems to nestle near me, It whispers in my ear; My books and pictures cheer me, Hearth never was so dear. In peace profound I lap me, I take no stock of time, And from the dreams that hap me, I make (like this) a rhyme. Oh, I'm ashamed of saying (And think it's mean of me), That when the kids are staying At Sandspot on the sea, And I evoke them clearly Disporting in the spray, I love them still more dearly Because . . . they're far away.
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