Horton House

 

HORTON HOUSE

Sometimes in the evening

By the light of fireflies,

As the sun sinks in the Ozarks

And bright embers paint the skies,

I picture good old Willow Springs

When every day was good,

Before her rutted streets were paved

And the Horton House still stood.

When the mill smelled of molasses,

The Frisco ran on steam,

And those who reached our depot

Likely satisfied a dream.

I can almost see old Main Street

With storefronts of weathered wood

And I hear the smithy banging steel

As briskly as he could.

Horse drawn buggies still raised dust

While little Fords were few,

With business brisk and trade robust

And skies a vibrant blue.

Evenings found each storefront lamplit

With streets serene and still.

The only sound was cordial chat

Midst calls of whippoorwill.

The smell of beans and cornbread

Wafted warmly down the street.

Utensils clanked and horses neighed

While folks' broke bread to eat.

Today I've got a few old bricks

That graced that grand facade

And they hint at long spent sunsets

That my heart may yet applaud.

But oh, to be a child once more

When every day was good,

When the mill smelled of molasses,

And the Horton House still stood.

Shannon Thomas Casebeer