Although its now obscured by trees
the old homestead is standing still
it's windows open to the breeze.
 
The flowers yet welcome the bees.
The garden waits for someone to till.
Although its now obscured by trees
 
the homestead waits; though it could please.
It sits forgotten on the hill.
Its' windows open to the breeze.
 
Its' only guests now ants and fleas.
It waits for one with hands of skill.
Although its now obscured by trees.
 
in shadows of slow-swaying leaves
standing deserted, silent, still.
Its' windows open to the breeze.
 
Just like a suitor on his knees.
It waits, perhaps it always will.
Although its now obscured by trees.
Its' windows open to the breeze.