1952

A train whistle riles up the dozing , dogs
They bray like coon hounds then shiver back to sleep
A honeysuckle screen quivers and dreams
The boys and the dogs are off to round up sheep

Smokey silence hisses with gas lamplight
Pipes on porches wink at the stars
Women are abed to rise with the first light
Dishes are done, bread is baked, children - clean

Only sound - the mournful call of a train
Smokes are doused, kerosene wicks trimmed prayers said
Night lights are stars peeking through drab windows
Time now to sleep, a freedom of dreams
Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

Poem

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Wolf Avatar
November 26, 2018 at 1:25 PM
Whispers of an updated 'Our Town' by Thornton Wilder. Eloquently captured, Sherry! A FAVE for me. Best wishes, Gershon
Krutsinger Avatar
November 25, 2018 at 10:09 PM
The year I was born is the headline! What? Good grief! How could I not notice that? Are you sure we did not live a lifetime together or something? Our similarities are starting to intrigue me. I wanted to use 1952, I did not know it until you did it though. Loud laugh. I love every single line; a simple time, but such a happy time. I can smell that bread, Sherry! I want it too.
West Avatar
November 25, 2018 at 7:55 PM
I grew up in the country. This reminds me of those days. Simpler, peaceful.. a slower pace of life. I enjoyed the visual you painted
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