June 5, 2016
Homage
by Bob Grove
Bleak skies hover over an old home
standing in silence, awaiting final darkness.
Once a proud family fortress
Sanctuary for her loved ones.
The bite of winter’s night left no sting
a hot poker stirred fireplace embers.
Crackling coals warmed hearth and hearts,
hickory smoke wound from the chimney.
Musk of baked bread wafted through her halls
a mother’s face smiled above a blue-rimmed platter
steaming potatoes and succulent roast
soft oven mittens shrouded her frail hands.
But now the pantry is bare
cold ashes line the dusty hearth.
Cobwebs, dampness, musty rooms.
Echoes of footsteps long silent.
A swing sways below a garden branch;
the children, too, have grown old.
The old home trembles under winter’s howl,
Succumbing to its icy mantle.a
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