Nothing left but an old well
just off a dim road overgrown
to hint where others used to dwell
and tend the crops that they had sown
Where once fields grew and a home stood
this hole is all that's left
all overcome by hoary wood
of all but wanderers bereft
Whose forefathers worked this land
such a long, long time ago ?
where the tall pine trees now stand
I guess I'll never know
Comments
So like
an archaeologist's dream and an anthropologist's challenge. But the layperson too does receive a beckoning from the voices of our collective past, whispering in the winds and guarded by the seasons. I guess we will never know everything. But it links us somehow and provides a continuity - thus having received the baton we run with it and pass it to the next generation into posterity.
traces
while hoping we leave more than forgotten traces when we are gone. Very good of you to come by and comment..............scribbler
traces
I am trying to write Some poems that don't ramble on so much( not always successful though lol). Always good to hear from site's newest fiance...........................stan
traces
you may be remembering " Crumbled Bricks ", "forgotten dreams", from here or "Homeplace" from old site. I find myself drawn to this theme occasionally lol.If not , Do post the one that's niggling at your memory....................stan
Dear Stan
yet another write which is testimony of your compassionate and empathetic heart...
warmly..
traces
thank you raj. I expect it takes one to know one.....................stan