Submitted Date 06/22/2022

She's only 6 or 7 maybe 8. I'm really not sure

We have been neighbors for a while now

I think of her every time I travel this dirt road.

We watch over each other like neighbors do


It's more of a trail of 2 ruts, just wide enough

For a car or small truck, I'm sure a buggy and

A team made it just fine. The hay fields are full

Of wild flowers, yellow, white and Burgundy.


The smell of fresh cut hay fills my memory

The tack room, the barn, the early morning

Chill in the air. My grandfather would fill a coffee

Cup just like his with milk and a splash of coffee

Off to the barn we would go, he always made me

Feel as big as him.


The colors of flowers now go dark, replaced with

Browns and greens of a thick forest. The ruts become

Deeper the smell of the air becomes cooler.


I know she had a barn, I know there were daffodils

Growing in the yard, every spring on time never late

I try to imagine her house made of logs so long ago

Windows on each side, a porch with a rocking chair

Facing the yard, facing the daffodils.

A trail of white smoke, Rolling out of the chimney.

Pork sausage maybe bacon

Eggs from the yard, homemade bread, butter from the cow

In the barn. She drank her milk with a splash of coffee

In a cup just like his


Her house is long gone, I heard a tornado

Pushed it into the woods back in the early 70s

Her mother and father are buried in a cemetery

Near town. Her brother tried to find her but it was too

Long ago, she was lost to the woods. All that stands is

The chimney,


A bald eagle circles the farm, screeching out a cry

I know he has found her, I know he watches over her

as neighbors do. She is ok not alone as she peers out of the woods

She sings and plays as she runs through the daffodils


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