I miss the farm that I never had-
Apple blossoms on the old homestead,
With leaning barns and placid cows,
And home-stitched quilt, on my brass bed.
I miss the meals that I never ate-
Hand churned butter on flowered plate,
Whole fat milk in a jelly glass;
How slowly days would come to pass.
I miss the folks that I never knew-
Mama, Daddy; the whole farm crew,
Tilling fields from dawn to dusk-
Sweetest bunch; wish that it were true.
I miss my grave on the hill above
Rows of cornfields and two grey doves;
Mourning early, mourning late-
As one dream away, I embrace fate.
I like this poem! ! So much more than a list of things nastalgic! The last verse is unexpected and winning! Constance Yost
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A yearning for a farm in a different slant and the last line solves the puzzle of strange dreams we all have, ..good one...regards