|
The Old Farmhouse
by Tony Whitaker
The old farmhouse still fills
fond magic moments
of my teen years
Looking upon her moldy gray facade
I consider this a crime
to see
with decades in time
her once proud and painted face
with gray grime prime
stains her wilted lines
The tears start to flow
as I review with remorse
the grass green grow
through the buckled bare boards
of our once family friendly porch
I stand here shocked
in sad wonder
as the cold steel
of the ignoble dozer
buries
an essential piece of my past
02/18/2007 Author's Note: I will miss the old farmhouse. The new Dell plant here in Kernersville, NC now sits over her grave.
Posted on 02/18/2007
Copyright © 2026 Tony Whitaker
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Maureen Glaude on 02/18/07 at 06:14 PM how tragic, all the losses here. I just came back from a family reunion planning meeting up in the small town area of the rural origins of the family, and we met in the century plus farmhouse still occupied by the 87 year old cousin on her own. So this was a timely, but much less happy, discovery. Good poem though. |
| Posted by Genevieve Sturrock on 02/19/07 at 01:43 AM i mourn everytime i pass a dilapidated farm house, thinking of the family that built it and grew up in it. 'you can't stop progress'...but i sure wish we would. today's houses have no grace and too many of the families inside are severely lacking the same. i'm mourning with you, tony. |
|
