The Old Farm House Poem by Bobby Mitchum

The Old Farm House stands
by the side of a nameless road
it's occupants gone to a better home
a different place, another abode.
It's windows are broken
and it's roof is caved in
and I stand here and listen
to the whispering wind,
that blows through it's empty rooms
and down it's empty halls
as it plays a game of tag
with the peeling paper on it's walls,
a stir of echos moves through my mind
like a zypher stirring dry brittle leaves
echo's of nostalgic thoughts
and vague bitter sweet memories,
memories that move my very Soul
of another place, another time,
of summer picnics and ball games
and wedding bell chimes,
of Children playing there
on another green and grassy lawn
playing childhoods brief games
running hither, thither and yon,
but all children grow up
and then they must move on
their childish games forgotten
as they have children of their own,
leaving this Old Farm House
to loneliness and decay
to be rediscovered by a Stranger
passing by on his own lonely way,
all these thoughts and more
move through my restless mind
as I gaze at that old farm house
standing there in eloquent silence, sublime.