The Farm Poem by Carolyn Brunelle

Grandma’s house
In the mountains
Has a white porch
And chairs for sittin’
After dinner,
A smoke house filled with jars
Preserving last year’s harvest,
Fresh well water,
Rows and rows of corn,
A barn,
Some hogs and
More than a chicken or two.
I wonder if the old farm remembers
Grandma and Grandpa
Who worked every acre,
Whose love filled each room;
A little girl who visited
And loved it too
So long ago.