The Old Home Place Poem by George Wootton

The grand old house is gone now from the hill on which it stood,
for a hundred years and then some, through the bad years and the good.
It was my favorite landmark on this often traveled road
to see it sent me dreaming of the toils of time it showed.
The ridge-line was sagging just a bit, the porch posts trampled down
by the cattle reaching for the hay stacked inside so safe and sound.
The ship-lap siding now brown and grey, white paint all washed away,
had stood it's ground for all these years, none made like that today!
The slanted windows devoid of glass seem saddened as if to say;

'these tears that fall for memories all of the families I have raised.
Oh, the children I have sheltered from those raging prairie storms
and held them safe and warm inside from winter's freezing harms.
I kept them cool in summer's heat, sleeping out nights on my porch
that went around me all the way so any breeze they caught.
The tall elm tree beside me gave my children a place to play,
They climbed out on my balcony, down her limbs and sneaked away.
The folks would sit beneath my roof discussing the day's events
and sometimes cry with broken hearts when hope had near been spent.
But many's the time a dance I've held when good times we would see,
when crops came in, a new child born or a wedding would set one free.
My walls hold many stories, some happy others quite sad
of the many souls who once lived here, whose hopes and dreams I shared.
With loving hands they built me, with love they kept me sound
but time has erased those loving souls and hidden this hallowed ground.
Memories of me faded by progress, a new ranch-house has taken my place,
I see the 'dozer' coming now, death too I'll suffer with grace.
This generation of family has never known my stately charm,
all they can see is a broken old house on this modern country farm.'

I am saddened by what I see there now, waving wheat in the southern wind,
no trace of the grand old 'Home Place', ne'er to be seen again.