A Past Long Gone

My father worked the land with Both horse and tractor plough. That family way of life is past, We are all city dwellers now. My father and mother dead My brother followed them on I’m the last of that generation And my country links are gone. In the churchyard family graves, Their once turfed burial mound Unmarked by stone, are now sunk To be level with the ground. I use words to paint for grandchildren Pictures of working days on the land, Of much less complicated times: And I know they try to understand But i am just grandad reminiscing When I tell of past country ways. They try listen patiently, but We are all connected these days. After a while their patience goes. They feel the call to be on line To worlds more exciting than That long passed one of mine. So I dream of Fordson tractors And the tall powerful Shire horse And they dream of things From their more modern source. I wish them long and rich life Happy and with good health, Sad they’ll not experience my world Once rich in everything but wealth.