a poem by Linda Bates Terrell, USA

One small spot of ground
in the middle of town.
See it over there?
beside that fountain,
old and rare.

Does one ever wonder
when taking a step
of the prior days gone by,
of those upon it who did sigh.

How many has walked,
down this fair street,
smiling, each other to greet,
So they too, have talked.

Picnics, hangings,
revivals, so many,
murders, drunks,
teachers, customers,
spending their few pennies,
husbands and wives,
leading their lives,

Oh so many names, and faces,
Has left the traces,
In a small town that once did thrive,
How many Smiths, Jones, and Browns,
captured to tread, the earths grounds.

Foot steps of many,
tall, fat, or skinny,
on lifes way,
changing day by day.

The pilgrims..gone,
The Indians so few,
Who knew,
buildings now soar,
with bright shiny door.

Vehicles out run the race,
of the grace of a horse's pace,
Air planes swishing through the sky,
streaking white cloudsa,
air pollution so high,
Progress, one could never ever deny,
But I stop to sigh.

The next time you take a step,
In your fair city,
think and wonder who stepped there before,
that has now passed deaths door,
that no one recalls their name,
They may have accomplised, no fame,
But God allowed their once, presence,
so take a minute for reverence,
And pray some day someone too will,
take a minute for you, to recall,
the steps you take now so small,
Small steps of.....
All in all
those past times....gone forever.

Pap's old Wagon.
My Collection of Poems 2008 - 2012
Days gone by
Pap's old Wagon.
From The Beginning
Days gone by

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