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 ramblings and things

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The old wagon sheds
Are a luxury dwelling now,
Not a sign of any chickens,
Not a sound of any cow.
The Old Beck keeps running
Though it seems a smaller size.
Maybe that's just memory
From a young man's eyes.
It looks unchanged
Still the same view,
The old buildings kept
Just the insides all new.
It could have been a yesterday
Of so many years ago
Almost the same place
That I used to know;
Somehow of course
It's lost some charm.
There are no Bulsons
On Billy Bulson's Farm.
I've had a last look
From the old cart track;
The memory sealed
I'm not going back.
The old orchard trees
Seemed to sing and sigh,
Maybe just wishing me
A fond last goodbye.







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