As I look up on the old pictures
Where my grandparents used to live
So many memories bring back yesterday
For so much they have to give
The old chicken house was a landmark
That wasn’t used for 40 years at least
As I think about those creatures
My memories continue to increase
Grandpa’s tractor so much a part
Of his life as I remember it
I smile as I picture him riding
On the place where he used to sit
And the roses grandma tended
So carefully she cut and pruned
I can smell them even now
She’d place them in many rooms
Grandpa’s old barn, so sad it was
And the pictures show so well
The usefulness gone many years
But I still remember the musky smell
Yes, although things won’t be the same
I have recollections that will stay with me
Grandpa and Grandma are gone
But my memories will never flee!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lynn Rosellini years ago in an article appearing in U.S. News about Centenarians noted that 'except for the wealthy, daliy life usually entailed crushing labor.' While womens' roles varied she describes the 'brutal job' of housekeeping and ranch- keeping. However, with all the chores, my great-grandmother always had her pansies, and her roses. There was still the same amount of time back then. They filled it so much differently than most of us do now. Some of the newer generation are looking for houses with no yards, zero lot lines, because they have no time 'to stop and smell the roses, ' that you so eloquently describe.