In Autumn on the Mountain
Now, home's not just a place we go;
It's more a state of mind,
E'en though, with fondness, one relives
Those times now left behind.
The fragrance of the woodsmoke
That wafted from the flue,
The sky seemed nearer...clearer,
A purer shade of blue!
The feature of the colored leaves
All brilliant gold and red;
Aromas from a kitchen
That smelled of fresh baked bread.
The hogs were butchered, and the meat
Was salted, hung, and cured;
The garden crops were canned or dried...
Our winter food assured!
The 'old folks' seemed to be on edge,
They'd sit and spit and frown...
Said 'rheumatiz' was always worse
When winter came around.
A loneliness, a yearning
For what? It's hard to say
Still visits in September
On cooler, clearer days,
It makes one think of former days,
Invading thoughts...of home,
When 'home' was NOT a state of mond...
A PLACE...long past and gone.
But dreaming is for 'old folks'
Who emphasize their ills,
(I need to get my bones indoors...
Before I get a chill.)
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Once again, Howard, you've captured the coziness that fond memories engender. You do have a way with words and I look forward to reading your poems.
Howard, this is a well-written poem. I enjoyed reading it, and allowing it to take me back a "few". (Today seems to be "memories of home" day, at F.W.)