Walking down the wagon trails
sure thing you aren't reading braille.
Finding the path of the country roads
old stomping grounds have grown cold.
Many trees no longer there on the nine mile corner
people moved on may no longer be in this world.
New buildings on the old yard sites
even with the old plow
sitting by the home intersection
just a ghost of the old times
clinging on as the winds of the past silently chime.
An afternoon drive down the trails of time
brings back the sweet sadness of memories
never to be relived or brought back to the present.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem