While we looked at decay and
My mind refused to see the full ruination,
Instead I heard the call from children at play,
Down the roadway I saw them running away.
Where broken windows stood stark,
Instead I heard the call of a meadow lark,
Just as we used to do years ago,
From inside we listened as clean panes glow.
The floor of the rock porch ripped apart,
Threatens to literally break my heart,
Half a century ago Dad dragged those here,
From a rock floor bed off meadow steam near.
These are only things I know,
Nothing of value there to go,
Yet if there is a memory
Of the finery,
How much more so will we know,
A memorial to lives who had to go.
It isn't just the material thing to cry over,
There are all the ones we knew, so sure,
Who gave our life meaning,
Now only an old house leaning.