Crying Or Vines

A little concrete house sat about 100 yards from the road. It was here I fell in love with lightning bugs and toads. It was a very lovely little place filled with love and joy. I was born and lived there the first 17 years of my life. To fight the heat, three trees surrounded this my gentle abode. It was situated in a little delta village in Northern Mississippi. I moved away in the sixties, but saw it last in the seventies. I was saddened when told years later that it no longer exists. The spot where it once stood is covered with crops of various sorts. I dare say that it would have been covered with vines instead of fields of grain, had it not been such a fertile place. No matter what covers it, I will always recognize its gentle trace. Yes, it was indeed a fertile place, not only for crops of foods and clothing. This rich habitation grew life and laughter. It was a place where chickens lay their eggs and where mother taught us to pray. O what a dear place, where we played, and none of us went astray. Perhaps I shall again visit this place of my humble abode before my demise. Although I do not expect to see a trace of vines, I cannot promise the absence of tears nor sounds of crying. 10062016 cj PS Contest, Overgrown With Vines, Broken Wings