Remember when

Memories and ghosts are all that throng co-
existing amongst trailing cobwebs,
in all that is left of the old homestead.
Where once small boys played at cowboys.
"You're Butch Cassidy and I'll be Sundance"
filling the woods with laughter, dens and trails.
Now the roof leaks and a rocking chair creaks
on the sagging porch, where we cuddled
our babies and patched skinned knees
in a life long gone but never forgotten.