The old home don't look the same So weathered by wind and rain, Once gleaming white on the hill, Now just a relic silent and still. Roses still bloom by the door, No one tends them anymore, They're wild as birds that nest On the porch once used for rest. The door stands open to invite in, Nothing enters but dusty wind, Lacey curtains hang dirty and torn Adding no grace to a place forlorn. A chair still sits at the window That looks over the meadow, Sitting empty for years it waits For someone to enter the gate. Neath the clothesline out back Are my mother's worn tracks Where she hung clothes to dry While singing an old lullaby. Daddy's plow has rusted away By a fallen barn that held hay, He farmed from sunup to sunset, I see him in the fields yet. A tire swing sags from an oak It's ropes now rotted and broke, We played under the ancient tree, My brother, little sister and me. If only I could turn back time, Back to my childhood in mind Of a home full of love and laughter, If I could just stay there ever after. ©Written by: Kenneth J. Ellison 06-08-04 Song title: "Ain't It Funny How Time Slips away" Return   Poetry By Ken   Guestbook   Email Ken To send this page to someone