My Oak Trees
We are standing heavy-laden
under the weight of this moss.
No one can see us crying
over all that we have lost.
The old man that smoked a pipe
and had a most devilish smile,
no longer lives here~
and has not for quite a while.
The corn house is now empty
but we protect it with our shade.
We miss seeing the activity
that all the people made.
The lady that tended the flowers
and made the house a home~
just closed the doors on day
and was,forever gone.
The little girl comes back
and visits us now and then.
We are always glad to see her.
She seems to smile again.
We are old, gnarled and tired
but we obediently guard the hill.
At night as we are bathed in mist,
We Can hear their voices still.
Copyright © Edna Carroll | Year Posted 2015
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