My Old Country Home
Author/Written By: Marilyn Ferguson

So many memories in my life
Are found down dusty lane
Within the broken splintered walls
And shattered window pane.

A home, fine as a mansion
Its paint, as white as snow
Oh how I long for years gone by
Those days so long ago.

Behind those walls came laughter
As children filled each room
Visions of my mom and dad
Break through the distant gloom.

My thoughts drift towards my childhood
Mom’s heart is young and glad
She’s cooking in the kitchen
And baking pies for dad.

She’s cutting out a pattern
And sewing things for me
With nimble hands, she works the cloth
She loves her family.

I see her in the garden
We planted one each year
She grew tomatoes, green beans too
And sweet corn, on the ear.

So many chores in raising kids
Mom handled with such ease
Our clothes were hung upon the line
With scent of country breeze.

The loft is filled with hay bales
Stacked neatly, way up high
The wind mill way out yonder
Goes upwards, to the sky.

I clearly see the barn lot
A rooster running loose
The cows, the hogs and chickens
A noisy mother goose.

The yard is full of green grass
With two dogs lazing round
The trees stand tall like statues
Their roots are firmly bound.

I catch a glimpse of Daddy
He worked so hard each day
Always busy, things to do
For there were bills to pay.

He pulls into the driveway
A strong, work-driven man
He just returned from job away
Now time to work the land.

It’s tractors, fields and combines
As summer brings the sun
September yields the harvest
A season’s work is done.

I hear the sounds of crickets
A sultry summer night
We played out in the back yard
The moon was shining bright.

With horse rides in the summer
And hay rides in the fall
Wiener roasts and cider
For neighbors, one and all.

I remember days of sledding
When roads were drifted in
Through hip-deep snow we waded
To venture out again.

Christmas time brought magic
And lots of pretty snow
With uncles, aunts and cousins
To Grandma’s house, we’d go.

Berries were abundant
We found them in the wild
Picked them by the bushel
When I was just a child.

A country church on Sunday
Amidst the fertile sod
A lonely bell did beckon
To seek the face the God.

I see the fields of clover
Like it were yesterday
Days that we spent fishing
The smell of fresh cut hay.

Gone are bikes and saddles
Where once a garage did stand
The building now has withered
Like shifting grains of sand.

I miss those many by-gone years
My home, aged by decay
But I will always remember
The smell of fresh cut hay.

At times I still remember
And close my eyes to see
Sweet visions of that country home
My friends and family.

Author/Written By:
Marilyn Ferguson
©2007

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