Three Spinsters in the Old House Atop the Hill

We live in a old house on a hill with one tree,     
just Gerda, Hortensia, and Me.
Our ancient  helper helps us sorta clean and scrub,
but Otto is a dim slow kind of schlub,
so out of our windows it’s very hard to see

The old gals in that big house on the hill above the village
have been there longer than anyone remembers.
They keep to themselves and never get any mail.
Children, of course, call it “haunted,” but there never have been any reports of irregularity , so  interest in them has long been forgotten.

We can view the whole town standing behind that tree.
We share looks in the glasses, Gerda, Hortensia and Me.
The many juicy things in our view,
if you only knew,
fills us with immeasurable glee.

Few have seen the three ladies, but those have reported the women are there when they think dusk is occluding seeing them behind their tree, spying down on the town.  Goodness knows why , as they could just as easily come down in that old automobile.  Gus at the Texaco garage says that car is a Hispano Suiza , a brand that was last made in 1930 .  It likely can no longer run, sitting outside forever in all sorts of weather, but there it sits; derelict and unused all the years we can remember.

They wonder why they never see
us shop for nary a pea,
nor venture out very far
for a drive in our ancient old car.
We’re just secretive as secret can be

The Ladies handyman Otto is seen in town very rarely, but when he does come down the hill to make purchases like canning jars , candles, and stuff, he is pleasant enough and returns greetings, but isn’t at all conversational and pretty much keeps to his task .


With no worry our door is left open; There is no key.
Because curious take one gander inside and flee-
There’s a library covered with spiders ; it’s very dusty-
Three chairs and a candle , all smelling quite musty.
But we’re happy here in our home; all agree.

Here and again some of the more rambunctious kids venture up the hill to  gander at the house despite  warnings against disturbing the old women.  Years ago Chandler McInerany and Scooter Landover went up and brazenly found the ladies’ front door unlocked.  Peeking in, they found it looked like no one lived there.  Big open room with a lot of old books stacked to the ceiling on shelves covered in dust.   Three overstuffed chairs sat before a fireplace.  I should interject that no one has ever seen smoke coming from the chimney.  Anyway, Scooter stepped on a stoop board that creaked , scaring the Hell out of the boys, who ran lickety split back down the hill, curiosity quenched forever.

We ladies admit we’re not the best at cleaning our rugs,
besides dust, we think they are infested with bugs.
We always amble about scratching at our unders,
that while walking can lead to bumping blunders,
but we never bleed from our tugs.

There is concern for their health.  No doctor ,dentist nor even the clinic has ever had a visit from any of the three.  At their advanced age, things must go wrong, but they seem to endure.  Curiously,  our town has long history of anemia.  County health worker Madeleine says  anemia can be hereditary, but that doesn’t account such a large portion being afflicted.  The state had their people in taking tests.  We all wrote down what we ate and drank along with lifelong medical histories .  They only found anemia has been around for generations and seems to center exclusively around our village. We worry the old gals could be afflicted.

We must relate that the sun never rises on us three
During daylight we are snug in our basement you see
for your blood is our life,
and constant supply keeps us from strife
‘cause, we’re vampires: Gerda, Hortensia and Me

-Jerry Wendt 2019