PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It just sat there all by it's self, so all alone

down there on sunny Maple street

and the trees arounde it looked just as tall

and I know the birds sang just as sweet

I hadn't seen it now for many years

so I just looked and cried

for it looked just about the same to me

as it did on the day that Momma died

There was an erie sort of silence

when you walked into the room

like they had all come back to meet you

here in the dusky gloom

and now I feel so guity

and it makes my heart to yearn

for we'd had a disagreement

and I left and did not return

And Momma, I always loved you

but I never told you so

and I wish that I could put my arms around you

and tell you how much I care

but it's much to late, I know

Oh this house used to be so pretty

and now it sits here, silent as a stone

and there used to be a family

but now they all have gone

There used to be much laughter and much joy

when all the children were at play

but now there's only echos of the past

of a neater sweeter day

There used to be the smell of good food

and picnic's on the lawn

but now theres only silence

for the children now are all grown up and gone

and it's sitting here just like it was

some thirty years ago

There's still coffee in the cannister

and a kettle on the stove

There's still Momma's dishes in the cabinet

and the closet still holds her clothes

left just like the day that Momma died

and why they left them, goodness knows

The tables set for breakfasr

with a red and checkered cloth

and there beside her old lamp

is a dead and swiveled moth

The rugs still lay all shoved aside

to let the doctors through

altho they had all been to late

to do the things they needed most to do

There was a magazine left open

for she had found a recipe that was new

for Momma always loved to cook

and oh, it was always so good too

There was a match upon the window sill

where she'd lit the old wood stove

and her keys were still upon the mantle

for the old car that she drove

The old back porch was still the same

except the steps were falling down

the old rocking chair still sat there

rocking in the breeze

with azalias blooming all around

It had simply stood for many years

all locked up and cold

while us kids all fought about it

who get's this, where will that go

and how it will be sold

It is a day I won't forget

as I stand here here all alone

and I hear again echoe's of the past

in my old and blessed home

and it seems that I can see them

Mom and Poppa sitting there

Momma knitting on an afghan

Poppa reading in his chair

and oh, the tears come roling

hot and heavy down my face

as I stand looking at it for the last time

this old and blessed place

And I don't wont to leave it

but I know it must be sold

but the memories of ths old beloved home

means to me, much more than gold

Oh I found her brush still on the dresser

and palmolive soap there on the tub

and a bottle of soft hand lotion

where she gave her hands a rub

Her old apron lay across the bed

just like she'd left it there

as she got down on her knees that night

to say her final prayer

And oh, Lord I wish I'd been there

when the angels came to take her home

for when someone finally called the doctor

she had just gone on alone

She had died all by her self and lonely

she just died there in her room

and no one was around

when the heart attack took her down

And now I leave here for the last time

my old home, the old home place

I will not look, I will not look around

for I know I'd see her standing as she used to

just waving and a smiling

as the sun ws going down