The wind Remembers

A quiet breeze explores the rooms
Where only memories bide,
No door to stay the inquiry
And nothing left to hide.
The laughter that once echoed there
Has long since moved or died.

No cattle ranging on the hills,
The fences broken down,
The barn is draped in old debris
That’s scattered all around.
The lonely whispers of the wind
Are all that makes a sound.

The grass grows long between the spokes
And threads around the gears.
The tools of life, tiller and plow,
Have not been touched in years
By aught besides the restless wind
And winter’s bitter tears.

The tumbleweeds, trapped in tall grass,
No longer dance the wind;
Rooted again by tangled weeds,
sweet freedom’s graceless end.
The full moon watches from afar,
A cold and careless friend.

The wind moves sighing o’er the hills
And calls the lost by name;
It can’t recall just when they left
But it recalls they came.
And it recalls the dreams they lived…
And that ours are the same.