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.

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