Echoes from the Past

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Down on the farm,
the old Dodge has seen better days.
When fields still yielded all that maize,
we drove the truck down Fisher Road
to make payments on mortgage owed
down on the farm.

In bygone times,
we rose every morning before
the rooster crowed to start our chores,
while the dew remained upon the rose
and pigpen scents caressed my nose
in bygone times.

When we were young,
wild creatures charmed innocent tots,
but deer and rabbits killed the crops.
We wrote with paper and pencil,
and "pot" meant cooking utensil,
when we were young.

From dawn to dusk,
we cultivated rows of dreams
beneath the sun's relentless beams.
Grandpa pulled handkerchief to wipe
his sweaty brow without a gripe
from dawn to dusk.

Back in the day,
the truck hauled loads of corn and beans
to O'Malley's Market in town,
then Homecoming Queen in her gown,
because we had no limousines
back in the day.

When work was done,
we dropped tailgate and gazed at stars,
watching for Jupiter and Mars.
Imagination took us there,
as we rested without a care
when work was done.

Down on the farm,
shadows of that past linger still
on the slopes of Mockingbird Hill.
Now, the old Dodge can only haul
tons of fond memories for us all
down on the farm.