PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

When I travel back to the old town, to the old family homestead,

even though the kin has long since gone, one and then another by-and-by,

my family still remains. 

The land is my mother and the hills are my brothers.

My friends still persevere as tree and stream.

And in silence I say hello to them and we reminisce about times so old that they seem to have never occurred.

I come by o’ so infrequently against my wants.

My time kept away, so I thought brought on by others or situation, hollows my soul, but now in clear realization I know was by my own self-loath.