Oh for a spot, a nice little spot,
That I can call all my own,
Where I can sit and read my book,
Eating blackberry jelly on scones–
And if jam should spill,
And fall on the floor,
No one will scold me or cry–
I’ll just go on reading
My dear little book,
And clean up the rug by-and-by.
Oh for a spot, a dear little spot
Just roomy enough for us all,
Where kitties and pups can roam as they like,
When dinner is ready, I’ll call.
A place large enough for plenty of books,
And various collections of things—
Old cookie jars and recipe boxes,
And pretty blue glassware and rings.
Then there are photographs–
Thousands of them
And paintings to go on the walls,
With plenty of windows where violets will grow,
And Christmas trinkets and little glass balls.
Did I say cookie cutters? And old rolling pins?
(There are only six of the latter)
And oh, don’t forget a collection of bowls
In which I can whip up cake batter.
And in the back, a small patch of earth,
Where lavender and violets can grow,
Enclosed by a cunning white picket fence,
It will be most charming, I know.
It needn’t be much,
My dear little spot,
The one I can call all my own,
But once you unpack, and bring it all in,
Well, would you just take a look!
How much my small spot has grown!
Sandra Lee Smith
May 1 2009/Updated July 1, 2019
