The old homestead stands alone now,
So full of memories,
That can be readily told,
By the deterioration of it’s eaves.
Situated near a weed covered lane,
It’s faded and warped clapboard flung,
Exposed to the wrath of stormy weather,
And many loose shingles hung
Above the homestead’s roof
As though it still wanted to protect
It from the elements
And the years of gross neglect.
The old homestead stands empty now,
But the shingles and clapboard hanging free,
Remember together the sad and happy moments
Of the days that use to be.
Joseph T. Renaldi