Remnants of the Past

The dusty, old farmhouse Sits in the hills Part of the past of Mail Pouch barns and Burma Shave signs that we Paused to read on afternoon drives. The veranda is sagging, An old hound is scratching, Cattle lethargically react to the heat As ducks scurry nowhere Cackling and scolding. Mister and Missus, Oblivious to all, Sit on the porch waiting for nothing, She with a fan from First Bible Church And he with a plug in his cheek. An old wringer washer stands in the corner, Been there since they can't remember, But possessions are hard to part with.