Memories swirl around in my head,
like fireflies in early July;
as my eyes survey the old homestead,
a kaleidescope of images stream by.
The old screen door where we ran in and out,
has been replaced by one that is new;
yet the ghosts of children frolicking about,
still seem to find their way through.
The pine tree planted with dad as a child,
was now some forty feet high;
its branches plush, a carpet of green,
reaching like fingers into the sky.
My thoughts focus on the big picture window,
where the Christmas tree sat every year;
to colored lights, a child's delight,
the gathering of family near.
A home which shared both sorrow and pain,
its fair share of laughter and tears;
while I'm able to let go of the old homestead,
its impossible to let go of those years.
Cheylin
(C) 2007
Originally Posted On Site: 2007-09-03 01:43:35
Last Login: 06.06.08
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