The Old Home Place

Stories of Love,
Stories of loss
Old house, Old trees
Limbs heavy with moss,

Days Gone by
Times long past,
Swingin' on the tire swing
High and fast,

Memories flood in
As I get nearer,
Times from my childhood
Remembered, get dearer,

Window panes missin'
Door hangin' on one hinge,
Breezes blow the tattered curtains
By that window was a lamp with fringe,

The squeaky old screen door
Long ago gone,
I can still see Granny standing there
Callin' to us "Ya'll come Home"

Cotton fields on one side
Corn fields on the other,
Runnin' up that old dirt road
With cousins, Sister and Brother,

The smell of Butterbeans, Ham and Biscuits
Wafting through the air,
We each wanted to be the first
To get that cowhide chair,

Old wood bench
A big wooden table so long,
Pie safe in the corner
Man, that Apple pie sure smells strong,

Anticipating all the good tastes
While Grace is being said,
Visions of Pie and whip cream
Dancing through my little head,

As thoughts drifted to after supper
And the fun that we'd have then,
Thoughts of tag, Hide and seek, and chasing Fireflies
Came just before "Amen"

Adults catchin' up on things
That had happened in their lives,
We'd listen with passing interest
All the while watching for the darkening skies

Full moon and Children laughing
On an Alabama Summer's night,
The memories of those times
Still bring me such delight.

Written By: Nancie Norton
June 1, 2011