When Imagination Became Old-Fashioned

We all played dollhouse in our big house, and we all doused in the pool-house.

We played farmhouse at the schoolhouse, and like jumping mouse in the fieldhouse.

But the schoolhouse turned a slaughterhouse, and the jumping mouse turned to biting louse.

She was a deer mouse, a little blonde mouse, in a big house, that they all doused. 

She was a lighthouse in a jailhouse, alone playing dollhouse in her pink blouse.

But she rehoused in the new rouse, built a small house in the big house.

No more dollhouse but a greenhouse, not a playhouse, but a safehouse.

She’s not a small mouse, it’s just a big house where they all douse,

But, luckily, she had played in that pool-house.