Withered Dreams ( Archived) (3)

Withered Dreams

The old homestead
Lay on the meandering banks
Of a once clear stream,
Now, only sifting sand.
A home, lonely and decaying,
Boards, weathered and gray,
Windows, shattered,
Like their owners dreams,
Roof, sagging like a tired back,
Sad, forlorn, abandoned
At first glance;
But not so.
The spirit lives on.
Children’s laughter yet rings
In dust shrouded rooms.
Sweat and sorrow are etched
In patterns of peeling paper,
And the specter of love
Stands silent sentinel
Over a sagging brass bed,
Where once trembling breasts
Arched to receive loves tender touch.
Flesh has turned to dust
But dreams linger on,
In the blunted plow,
In the broken hoe,
In the weed choked garden plot,
Forever guarding an abandoned home
On the banks of a forgotten stream.

Ronald R. Hulshizer

This reminds me of what we call "the old home place", that was my Grandparents home before they passed away. Every Sunday, the WHOLE family gathered for dinner, which was ALWAYS fried chicken and the fixings. All us kids would be outside playing and singing the day away.
The house is barely standing now, but still remains in the family.

Thank you Sam, for bringing back some wonderful memories of long ago, when I was a girl.



Rose.