Saturday, June 4, 2011

Poem: The Grange House

The Grange House

The house lies just over the hill from town,
up a dirt road that transports you
to a time of black and white photographs
and history books.

It is abandoned, a physical memory
slowly fading, like paint, like dusk, waiting
for the honeysuckle vines
to swallow it in a fragrant morass.

You stand there a while, and imagine
life filling the faded Grange House,
and for a moment, you hear voices,
calling out like your own past,

crying softly on the wind: "Please."


The picture was taken last weekend, near Pawlet, VT. You can click on it for a larger version.



Tess Kincaid said...

It's always sad to see place, once vibrant with life, fading into dust. said...

Nice. I can hear those voices whispering.