A faded curtain dances and waves,
from the wind as it does play,
making life from long ago,
seem still existent,
in this old southern home.
Beyond the rotted window frame,
lies a story of love unfeigned,
childhood friends they were you see,
maybe a story,
of you and me.
Can you smell it, I think I can,
there was bacon frying up in a pan,
biscuits made for them and we,
in a time when life was simple,
life was free.
Oh look! With me if you can,
through this window and see our land,
cotton fields the space of wide,
it feels just like,
1855.
See there beyond its a willow tree,
your picture is buried there with me,
thus the curtain all faded it flies,
awaiting resurrection,
by and by...
© Dawn Michelle, All rights reserved.
Author notes
Picture Prompt contest winner April 2011 the picture you see posted here was the original prompt for this piece
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