It was years since I’d visited

My grandfather’s farm, 

It had become inaccessible, 

The grass now grew across the road,

And the fenceposts clung to one another,

Drunkenly,

Connected by sad and futile bits of wire

A morning mist hovered,

Half-burned by the sun,

Which threw long shadows down the track.

It would have been sad,

But for the trees that lent their shade,

And crowded the path in a protective embrace, 

Returning fond snatches of memory to me

Of my grandfather’s farm.

© Caro Ness 2015