Memories, just faded memories
                                                                                                                                        By alan spivey

Looking out my window, Eleanor is playing on the old rope swing that’s hanging down from the old oak tree.
Mary is walking up the steps from going into town to open my front door. The horses are whining and ready to rest from their long   ride. The carriage so black and shiny stands there with pride.
The Calvary just passed on their way to who knows, since I can’t move to see what’s going on, my bones are crackling I am getting old.
Memories, just faded memories,
Eleanor isn't there  the swing has fallen years ago the old yellow ribbon  Mary tied  for her husband  who never came back home only a little piece  still shows on that old oak tree.  
My doors swing open and closed with the wind, my window has since been broken. I ..  I still see Mary and Eleanor but they never come through my doors or play on the old  swing.
They just fade away like faded memories.
I am  old my bones are crackling  I am falling down  more often for I am their house I am whom Mary’s husband made for her before he  went to war.
Memories, faded memories