Silent Farmstead
The fields lay fallow now.
Empty silos and ghost barns.
The pump’s rusty arm hangs low
Over her dried up well,
And the windmill’s fallen silent,
Having lost the last of its blades.
Weeds and wildflowers stake their claim
To a land that’s now forsaken;
Time and seasons unforgiving
To man’s iron horse and fading plow.
A once crimson barn,
Has turned a somber grey.
The old house stands vacant
With weathered porch and broken chair;
Once a time of prosperity,
Where lives began and dreams were made.
Now nothing more than a soft wind
Whispering through the empty frames.
