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Southern Illinois
by
Julianne Carlile |
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How many time my father took us to his home,
The land of his ancestors and of his birth,
So we could get in touch with our past and his:
To love a live gone.
And we saw land more dry and dusty than sand,
Filled with not much civilization, but farms,
And people as dry and dusty as the land,
As if they rose from it.
Now I go down to the place that he came from,
Alone to all the places that he loved,
And find that things have not really changed so much,
Except that he's not there.
The family reunion's filled with all his kin.
Young ones keep coming and old ones keep going.
The cemetery keeps growing with those he loved--
The ground cries for him.
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--Submitted by Julianne Carlile on 2011-01-04.
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lanet:
It speaks of "home." Especially nice at this time of the year.
Posted 01/04/2011 09:15 AM
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Julianne Carlile:
Oh poo! It's supposed to be "love a life gone" not "love a live gone". Darn.
Posted 01/04/2011 07:22 AM
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