"Now this will be yours," your Grandmother said,
As she led the way to the southeast room
On the second floor of her nice big house
Where the sunlight streams on the blue blue rug--
"Here is lots of light -- with the windows three,
And room for yourself and your work, you see."
"This room is Blanche's, when she's here with me,"
She said of the one that was mine to be --
"And this one is Jo's that is dressed in pink --
This one is Father's where the big desk stands,
And this little one -- when I am alone
I like best of all -- it seems most like home."
So we went the round of the house -- we two,
And talked of the things she would like to do --
And looked at the pictures hung on the walls,
Your mother a bride, all joyous with pride,--
Your papa too, dear, and some of the boys --
Your Uncle Otway, Aunt Blanche, and the rest.
She talked of you all -- this Grandmother dear --
Two winsome wee girls and three sturdy boys --
Your home far away -- it seemed far sometimes --
But love makes it close, and thought brings it near --
And letters come fast, and "joylegrams" too
Can span many miles and let one see through.
Rooms are like people, 'tis hard to say why
You choose your own room, even though you may try --
I loved the pink room than Jo calls her own --
But after I went first from this one to that,
I liked best the one with the windows three,
Though I could not tell quite the cause, you see.
But the cause was there, hidden quite from sight
For a good long time, but it came to light!
A short time ago your Grandmother said,
"This is the way I dressed Lois's bed --
When the baby came -- Jacqueline, the dear!"
Just then did I know you were born right here!
My love for the room with the windows three,
Was built on a thing human eyes never see --
On the fact that you -- Jacqueline, my dear,
To fulfill wise purpose, was born right here,
And christened the room with an holy awe,
Like another child in the ages past.
Hattie Johnson Bonnell March 20th.1924.