One Last Look
Today I buried Papa in the ground,
by Gordon Dean Schlundt
Next to Mama, and my brother John;
For old time's sake, and one last look around,
Before my long and lonely ride back home,
I went out by the farm where I grew up.
The once-grand house groaned in disrepair,
Abandoned now for twenty years, or more;
Fences needed mending, weeds were everywhere,
The faded barn seemed smaller than before;
Awaiting eager climbers, the basswood tree.
The mailbox rusted on the crooked post,
Papa's name still partly readable;
I wondered if the hayloft rope still hangs
Above the straw where John and I would play -
That harmless play that took my brother John.
Sad, how many summers have gone by,
How many accomplishments he might have made;
Dear John, you would have been so proud
When I made captain of the baseball team;
I loved you Johnny, goodbye; I'm going home.