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The Old Homestead
Down the rugged mountain Across the canyon I see, Lacy wisps of dancing smoke Caressing the old pine trees, Dancing like the ghosts of past Swirling in the wind, Brings to mind my family past I wish they were here again. The old family homestead Stands proud and alone, Its white paint faded to gray With a chimney made from stone. The windows once were boarded up But those old boards are gone, Rotted away to powder As time marched on. The fireplace, still standing In a corner across the room, Used to keep grandma warm On a cold wet afternoon. There is a faint odor Of my mother’s perfume, So lightly I can feel her I see her in every room. I can hear my father’s footsteps On the porch near the door, I know it’s only longing He’s not among the living anymore. The old family homestead Within its faded walls, Are the ghosts of people past Memories I still recall. Some are sad, Some are glad, These memories of the heart. Engraved into the very soul, They fade but never depart.
Poem copyrighted © 2004 by Lydia Warner Miller Web site copyrighted © 2012 by Lydia Warner Miller Cell: 530-391-5056 Home: 530-644-5594 email: brokenbadge8@yahoo.com lydia-miller.artistwebsites.com Fine Art America.com search Lydia Miller 2379 Indian Wells Road Placerville, CA 95667 |
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