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The Farmhouse
poetry [ ]
coming home, feelikngs of security

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by [moonangel0404 ]

2009-05-29  |     | 

I drove slowing along
the country road, mesmerized,
as the wheat waved
in the breeze, it's golden
splendor reflecting light
for what seemed like miles

Drawing closer, the worn,
dilapidated farmhouse
shown like a gray beacon, the
old tin roof a little worn for wear
and the smells of grandma's
baking filling the air...

There is no hug as tight nor
eyes as bright as that of
grandmother's on a warm
summer afternoon, when you
are road-weary and ready
to settle in to memory lane

I climbed the huge rock and
sat looking out over the cliff, seeing
miles of valley, the
hills rolling beyond, covered in green,
green grass, cows grazing and crows
circling, filling the air with their

Grandpa found me there, still
staring out over the valley, the
sun going down and he sat down
beside me without uttering a word

The dinner bell rang and we both knew
it was time to go home, grandma was calling
and all was right with my world

.  |

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