by James Eaton
The empty houses down our street,
This place that echoed to my feet,
Alone I stand and face the dawn,
Thinking of my kin and mourn.
I wonder where they are today?
The younger brother, run away,
My sister left so long ago,
We both were young and I was slow,
Too slow to think nor understand,
The meaning in her trembling hand.
Our parents now are far away,
father gone, what can I say?
Mother lives her life alone,
I hardly go or even phone.
So many changes we have seen,
The 1950's a sweet dream,
Now the century has turned,
And still I feel I've nothing learned.
Last updated September 24, 2015