On the Lane
There’s a place called The Lane,
that time forgot.
In the center of towering green trees
sits a survivor of time,
one lone ruin,
a stone silo.
Specter of the farm that once
graced the hills and valleys,
each crack and crevice
has a story to tell.
Thos who live on The Lane,
show their respect
for it is a place
of peace and contentment;
inside, one can feel
the rising and setting sun
upon rich land that once
birthed stalks of corn,
filled cattle with abundant
nourishment and fed
the family who farmed there.
History has a sacred place here,
for in the world of frantic cities
and noisy suburbs,
the lane remains
an audibly silent sanctuary
where spirits of the past
revel in the shade
and souls of today,
can listen to their stories,
with ears of the heart.
When I go within,
I sit in contemplation,
of those who built
the lives we have today
and of their struggles,
for the lane reveals
secrets to those who
are willing to listen.
6-14-2021
ALL YOURS (Jun 15) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
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