PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It was sitting there abandoned

on that long and lonely trail

it had sit perhaps a hundred years

for no one lived to tell

about the tragedies that it had suffered

on the long hard trip out West

and was it fire, or the sickness or Indians

that had put it to the test

and what about the families

and the hardships overcome

I can almost feel the sorrow

when they realized that time had won

had it been an older couple

going west to claim a new life

or had they been a younger couple

a brand new husband and his wife

I can almost hear their hearts a thumpin'

as they packed up to take this trip

food, water and household goods

and don't forget the old cow whip

and I too, can feel the sorrow

or the families and their friends

as they loaded up and headed out

almost knowing that when they left

they'ed not see their families ere again

and as they traveled onward

in that wagon train so long

did they talk and laugh with other folk

did they hunt and sing old songs

 did they look with hope and promise

to the new land folks had said

that was better than the rest

and they were anxious just to get there

to this rich land God had blessed

Oh I bet they couldn't wait to see it

to build new cabins warm and snug

and to get all their treasures in them

on their new and braided rugs

and they would sit and dream for hours

as the old camp fires burned low

and they talked about how much work

they had to do

in it's soft  melodious glow

I can still see the children playing

and smell food cooking in the pots

I can hear the shouting of the wagon master

as he pointed out each ones spot

I can feel the pain and sorrow

as some young and tender mother

and I hear her crying sound

as they buried her small daughter

in that hard and dusty ground

and we'll never ever know the story

of how their dreams come to an end

and how their hopes and  passions

just died along with them

and as one by one they lost them

their families and their friends

When did their troubles start to come

did the Indians just ride down and kill

did the wagons accidently burn

did dust storms come at will

And now I stand here with such memories

as the moon grows ever pale

o'er this old conastoga wagon

left abandoned on the trail

and as I stand here looking at it

an old wagon, half buried in the sand

at the rotten boards and spokes of wheels

that's here lying all around

and I feel that I was once here

so many years ago

and could it be me that once had traveled

in this wagon old and slow