Snow Falling:
The white frozen crystals of liquid vapor
Float all around softly coasting to the ground
Our big tomcat lying over by the fire
Curled up in a ball gives out a low purr
Flames dance across the red glowing embers
Sparks pop into the air as dad moves a log around
Sissy with sleepy eyes stumbles by wrapped in a blanket
Holding it to her tight, as if no one knew it was hers
Moms humming a new tune she heard on the radio
As she puts that pan of biscuits in the hot stove
Dad looks across the room with his boots in hand
I quickly scurry for my coat knowing it is time to go
As we walk to the barn across the new fallen snow
I see red and white sparkling across a field of gold
Dad turns our cows out of the barn into their new home
As I throw another block of hay down to them far below
I set here thinking about these things as cars rush by
What did I gave up long ago to have this city life
I stare out my window watching black snow falling
Will anyone ever understand why, when it snow's I cry
Copyright ©2002 Ellis William Moore
The white frozen crystals of liquid vapor
Float all around softly coasting to the ground
Our big tomcat lying over by the fire
Curled up in a ball gives out a low purr
Flames dance across the red glowing embers
Sparks pop into the air as dad moves a log around
Sissy with sleepy eyes stumbles by wrapped in a blanket
Holding it to her tight, as if no one knew it was hers
Moms humming a new tune she heard on the radio
As she puts that pan of biscuits in the hot stove
Dad looks across the room with his boots in hand
I quickly scurry for my coat knowing it is time to go
As we walk to the barn across the new fallen snow
I see red and white sparkling across a field of gold
Dad turns our cows out of the barn into their new home
As I throw another block of hay down to them far below
I set here thinking about these things as cars rush by
What did I gave up long ago to have this city life
I stare out my window watching black snow falling
Will anyone ever understand why, when it snow's I cry
Copyright ©2002 Ellis William Moore
13 comments:
You painted such a gorgeous picture of family and farm and snowy nights. And then you made me want to cry for it was memories (beautiful, yes) and that was sad...
I always longed for uncrowded spaces when I was in the city growing up-
Must be tougher to move the other direction to the noise!
Good memories to treasure
I live in a suburb that is close to the city, but free from the noise that the city carries... in the future, I want to live close to the nature and away from the buildings and noise...
That is lovely, Ellis. You make me see it. And I long for days gone by in the country, too.
Wow you have so many layers!!!!
Isn't it so? When we are young, we run. When we grow older, we want to return and embrass what we left behind ... but how fortuante for you that you did grow up on a farm ... bet your mom made good biscuits too! :-)
A beautiful window into yesteryear Ellis.
Beautifully done,
Elizabeth
PS Really loved that last line.
Ellis -- I liked the picture you painted with your words in this poem.
I always wished I could live out in the country with snow. Unfortunately, I seldom see it except on the Weather Channel:~)
Ellis, that is amazingly beautiful. When I take the kids down to see the horses, sometimes there is just that hush in the air, my palm on a horse's warm neck and a view of open land that stretches in all directions, and my heart tingles.
:-) Literary license is allowed. Sorry for being tooo literal myself ...
Wonderful poem ...
My mom couldn't cook for beans. That's why I learned to. Self-defense.
Talon:
No tears please I did that enough.
Snaggle:
Yes I remember back then too.
When the snow was white.
Opaque:
Welcome, come back if you can.
Sometimes the country is better until a bear is chewing on your foot.
Lynn:
I thought you lived in the country. You keep talking about driving to the city to work. I’d better start reading better.
Falen:
And some call that multiple personalities.
September 29, 2010 12:09 PM
Jamie:
Those times were on my mother’s Uncles farm. The mother was her aunt. Less just, say cooking was not one of the things my mother was good at. Yes I would love to go back to his farm and live till I was old. Sorry about the misleading it just made a better poem.
September 29, 2010 7:16 PM
ElizabethR:
Will thank you very much. I guess I’m going to have to go find it and thanks for it.
September 30, 2010 1:30 AM
Sara:
I like the snow too but not too happy with the cold.
Love the country, no other houses around, tall pine trees.
Jewel:
It’s nice to get that tingle now and then. That sense of freedom.
September 30, 2010 10:40 AM
Jamie:
It is okay I just did not want to mislead you.
At that time in my life, they were raising my siblings and me.
I live in the 'burbs of northeast Atlanta. I have some green around me, but I wouldn't really call it the country. I drive 20 miles to work to northwest Atlanta where there is serious concrete.
Your poem made me think of the farmland surrounding my parents' home - my family home. It's up for sale now - I pull the house up on the internet to look at it on the realty site and it looks so sad to me...
Lynn:
it is a shame you can't find a way to keep the house you love.
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