Yes I am that old~! And though we lived in a small town, when I was little, we did not have all the convenience , so we had an “out house” behind the house, which we referred to in our Local French as “Le Tee Cabine”, or the little cabin.. So here is a poem about ours~!
OUR OUT HOUSE
Yes I am getting old,
but I still remember,
about that night so very cold,
in a freezing late December.
When nature called,
and I had to go,
to our outhouse, vertically walled,
but with windy cracks below.
Such a dark cold place,
necessary though it seemed to be,
where we just had to face,
without fear, what we could not see.
A spider, or a big blow fly,
things that sting or bite in the dark,
but grim faced I would abide,
humming a tune, in fear, like a lark.
A noise, a rustle, a sound,
in that dark tree just outside,
no place though could be found,
inside, where we could hide.
Too dark for me to see,
the handy Sears Roebuck book,
because the last one here to leave,
had left it off the hook.
Ah something here, oh wow~!,
right down there on the floor,
immediately must grab it now,
so I can quickly dart out that door.
Then, I must tell you, and it is no fun,
but must let you know, is seems,
I once accidentally wiped my bum,
with one of those bright moon beams~!