While driving a back road, the other day
came across an old farm in sad decay.
I pulled off to the side, to view the site.
Wondered how this farm, fell into this plight.
Searching I pictured sights from; long ago.
The farmhouse was blanketed by the snow.
Smoke curled from the chimney, by night and day.
Kids ignored the cold, while busy at play.
Looked once again and saw Spring drawing nigh.
As play was replaced, by chores by and by.
All hands were required, to work the farm.
With each generation; farm life lost charm.
With summer came work, from daylight to dark
and seldom a chance for, a play-day lark.
A dip in the creek; seemed a rare treasure.
Life on a farm, left small time for pleasure.
With Fall’s arrival, came new work to do.
There’s meat and tators; to mention a few.
Cords of dry wood, to stack neatly in rows.
Then stock the larder, and fill the silos.
Winter comes to offer, a brief repose.
Dad works on the books and Mama she sews.
Kids all enjoy; what seems a holiday.
Climbing the hill, to ride down on a sleigh.
Each passing year, the desire has waned.
“Jobs are in town,” all the children explained.
Venturing off, they all leave one by one,
parents pass on and the farm; it is done.
Farm life’s been replaced, by sad memories,
I thought as I sat there, beneath the trees.
A life style forgotten and left behind.
One trip pass that farm, brought this all to mind.
Cheryl Davis Miller 2010