Trundling through shadows
To a lone stone wall
Along a ridge an old Yankee farmer tended 'til he died
Slowly overtaken by time
And the wild bloom of flowers
The stone wall crumbles
Back to the field
Silent as the dry passing wind
Only the sound of a river washing stones whispering
We were never really here.
Sep 26, 2020
Sep 26, 2020 at 1:07 AM UTC
Trundling through shadows
To a lone stone wall
Along a ridge an old Yankee farmer tended 'til he died
Slowly overtaken by time
And the wild bloom of flowers
The stone wall crumbles
Back to the field
Silent as the dry passing wind
Only the sound of a river washing stones whispering
We were never really here.
Thank you for your wonderful response for my poems. TJ Struska