Old Folks Home


 (c) Photo by Loree  


There's a red hand pump sitting beside,
A dusty country road,

With a mailbox mounted on it,

The pump stands proud and bold.


While the name on the box is fading

The letters curled and torn,

Like those who live, back in the trees,

All wrinkled and much worn.


The barn stands silent and empty,

Gathering place for cobwebs now,

No sound of gentle bawling,

From a much impatient cow.


Just a few hens left, to wander,

And a rooster kept for his crow,

To help hold to the sights and sounds,

Of days from long ago.


For in the back of each one's mind,

And never far away,

How many sunsets are left to us,

How many dawns for a new day?


It's a sad time for the couple,

As they think of being alone,

Each sit in silence, lost in thought,

Pass the time, in their 'old folks' home.'


©  2004  Loree (Mason) O’Neil


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