Poem of the Week
January 24, 2005
Far up in the Rockies, near Evergreen,
Is the cunningest village ever seen.
Its has streets with wee houses up and down;
And the name of the village is Tiny Town.
There's a railway station in Tiny Town,
A library, white, and a schoolhouse, brown;
There's a steepled church, a block of stores,
And a grand hotel with smooth dance floors.
Children might live there, if ever so small;
But the strangest thing about it all
Is, the town is deserted; lone and still,
It stands at the foot of a pine-clad hill.
Yet the houses look such a "lived-in" way,
That I wonder sometimes if, at close of day,
The fairies, led by Queen Mab in her crown,
Come to stay through the nights in Tiny Town.
Perhaps in the tiniest homes they dwell,
And to music dance at the grand hotel;
Then troop to the church ere they leave, and there,
Sing a hymn and murmur a word of prayer.
For many a tourist, at night, has heard
Sweet, haunting music and soft-spoken word;
That may not have come from rushing of streams,
Or whispering pines, or voices in dreams.
--Nellie Foster Seibert
Colorado
80465
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