“It’s a shame to be selling off
the old home place, but Mom and Dad
are both gone now - Dad from his cough,
Mom from her heart. Their passing’s sad.”
Their son knelt, grasping a handful of sod.
Once his parents had farmed this valley land.
Across row upon row of cotton once trod
his dad - build the farm for his heirs his plan.
Now mostly gone is his parents’ generation.
His generation moved from country to city.
None will farm, better a job that earns a pension.
The old way of life is dying - more’s the pity.
That’s the way of things - the old must always give way
to the new, one generation yields to the next.
Each generation is eager to have its day,
a continuous parade…one follows another…it’s not complex.
As this son takes his last look at his old home place,
his own son approaches, “Dad, we need to hurry and go.
Your grandsons are antsy; the wife’s got her ‘Mad Face’.
You need to be moving on!” Smiling, he replied, “Yes, I know…”
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