A shattered ruin
beside the road.
Empty window panes
stare sightless.
Sagging roof,
rotting boards
with flecks of crumbling paint.
An old pump stands out back.
Daffodils askew
along a vanished path.
Rose bushes and
tiger lilies growing wild,
random bleeding heart scattered
along an old stone wall,
persimmon trees and quince.
Ninety acres, a quarter section,
a living once for mom and dad
and four small children.
Carved from the wilderness,
tamed and cultivated with grinding labor,
born of love and hope!
It seems so sad and yet
the meadowlark sings amid the grass.
From these roots came:
doctors, school teachers, preachers
and countless honest, decent folk
who have no memorial,
save in the heart of God,
who lets not a sparrow fall in vain!