Once, it was all just the right size:
Charming children’s chairs, a tiny tea table,
And a silver stove and sink
For warming and washing wooden food.
It was a perfect place to play house.
But now it’s a bit too small for us here,
All three of us being so grown-up.
When we sit we are squashed just a bit
And I hear the old chairs creek as we settle in.
Our knees are knobby no longer;
Now they’re even taller than the table.
I can now reach the rough rafters,
And Anne can just touch the top of the wall.
Ruth can sweep the small porch in a second.
When we run down to the playhouse, I see a bit of sadness,
For our castle has crumbled and become a cottage.
Our mansion has shrunk to the size of a shack.
But really, in the end,
The ginger ale served tastes just as zingy,
And the company is full as merry,
As it was in days of yore.