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The Old Rusty Gate

That old rusty gate, goes way back in time 
It's body of metal holds memories 
Through the hinges and spindles- Ivy climb 
Almost hidden from the thick leafy trees 

The gate still swings in the wind of a day 
Do the ghosts of the house; past- come and go 
If that old gate could talk, what would it say? 
In its squeaky voice- "I've seen the wind blow" 

It out-lived the house, still standing alone 
It holds memories of a hundred years 
Tulips of color and roses- once grown 
If the gate had eyes- it would shed some tears 

The gates still alive, though rust grasps its face 
Don't think, it ever, wants out of that place 

One In Five Poetry Contest 
Sponsor: Joseph May  

Copyright © Charles Messina | Year Posted 2022


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Date: 7/2/2022 10:13:00 AM

Ah, this is lovely, Charles. I've seen this so many times back in the hills when the old folks die off and leave the house to ruins with no heirs or no one who wants it. This is also a fine metaphor for those of us living through our last years. Beautifully-written, my friend.
Date: 7/2/2022 5:45:00 AM

I just love this one. Awesome writing. Hope it wins. God bless you. Love, Gina