That Was the Farm to Me

That Was the Farm to Me

In the gentle rolling hills I hear echoes of
Cousins giggling and a families' love,
Family picnics on Nanny's lawn,
Wide open meadows that we trampled on,
Big wheeled farm tractors,
Spreading pungent air,
The tinkling kick of the can,
And jingling of change for the fair.

I see dust rising off the road
In gentle billowed clouds.
I see birches, pines, and maples
Standing tall and proud.
Sap lines running 'long the road,
And jagged stone walls too,
And the ominous point of barbed wire,
Poking out at you.

I feel gentle rain, booming thunder,
Shaking the whole hill,
I feel warm sun, crinkly fall leaves,
As I jump in for the thrill.

I feel a grandmother's arms around me,
I hear her voice, just as before,
"Well you know where they are,
Get the cookies out of the drawer!"

I feel my grandfather's hand encircle mine,
With fingers calloused and hard,
And a shiny, round, soft head,
So perfect, no hair to mar!

I hear two dogs scampering,
One--pretty,
One--not so much.
One is muddied, the other proper,
But both loved their Bumpy's touch.

I hear children running in the worn path,
And scampering up the road,
I see bits of felt and buttons, and paper,
And fabric to be sewed.

I taste the gooey ambrosia...
Ahhh, maple sugar on snow,
I see the old sugar house,
with weathered, creaky boards,
And it's home, I just know.


I see my childhood in a plastic paperweight,
That I can never retrieve again.
When the world was safe and we were together,
When there was no one to grieve or blame.

I see innocent dreams, and untarnished hopes,
I feel a heart that was filled with glee.
I didn't know I was different,
I didn't know of this trouble,
That was the farm to me.