down the dirt road, round the corner from the cottonwood tree
lays the remnants of my families home
years ago, when one could smell the pine trees in the air
an the roads were built with sweat and toil
was my family making ends meet the best way they could

you could find the children playing together in their bare feet
all wearing hand me down overalls and the dog barking away
grandmother would be putting the fresh laundry on the clothes line
papa would be working in the garden from dawn till dusk
occasionally you would smell the moonshine on his breath

my aunts and uncles lived round the bend along with my cousins
we all walked to school together under the spring sun
studying our lessons in a one room school
a few fights would liven up the lunch time recess

late at night if you listen closely you can hear the voices
a few times the sounds of guitars and fiddle and mandolin
would ride the ridge at night for all to hear
if I close my eyes I think I can hear it again

today I walked up that old mountain again
laid a wreath upon the final resting place
of my grandparents and mother and father
and a few brothers who we lost in the great war

no one comes up here any more
it is as remote now as it was then
but to me
this will always be my home

11/09/2008

Posted on 11/10/2008
Copyright © 2025 Mark Maxey