The old screen door on the back of the house hangs akilter, precariously
With holes in the screening, like it's playing a vagabond vicariously
The well has been filled with rocks and bricks, no dipper hangs on a nail
The old hand pump needed primed, no bucket sits on the side of the well....
...
No more shouting for an echo, no more dropping stones for the splash
We never could afford to repair it, now it is all filled in with trash
Time moves along like an eagle in flight, hours stolen in the dead of night
Time takes all we have, mocking us daily as we gaily ignore its flight...
...
Now upon returning where Jenny had walked, I sense the footsteps of God
As He lovingly held my Jenny's arm along every pathway she ever trod
I was almost afraid to enter the house which for many years was our home
Once inside, no sound except the monotonous ticking of life's metronome...
...
As it pounded in my head where usually instead memories struggle in my mind
The wooden floor still creaked as it did when we left the homestead behind
Time burrows inside, no subtlety applied, as it slowly turns memories to rust
No use in trying to slow the inner sighing as my feet kick up puffs of dust...
...
I entered the bedroom, could almost see footprints across the wooden floor
I feel they were Jenny's, worn there thru years, never to be walked anymore
All keepers of time speed up as you age as if reacting in a fit or a rage
To what Nature is doing to you, things Nature should never do at your age...
...
Jenny couldn't bear to come with me, nostalgia seeming to eat at her soul
A lifetime of living in this old place, a nursing home was never our goal
But at least we're there together, that's what counts regardless of everything
And when I look at Jenny, what can I say, she still makes my old heart sing.....
