In the barrenness of this old place,
in winter season's defining grace.
I often stroll here seeking a peace,
it's telling history an endless release.
As it's legendary story telling reflects,
of a bygone lifestyle put to the test.
It's furnishings now aimlessly scattered,
broken in piled heaps that used to matter.
In bits and pieces strewn across it's floor,
broken glass and mud crusted plates galore.
Humble rough hewn table thick with dust,
dilapidated chairs that smell of mold and must.
Old photos left in scrapes within cold fire hearth,
recalls a family farm of pride now thrown apart.
Humility echos through these decaying walls,
where once stood strong in efforts long.
A tranquil peace I find in remembrance of,
a dieing breed who harvested in shared love.
~~~~Suseann~~~
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