Crooked Roads

Down crooked roads with hills and trees, there lies a cottage fair,
For hundreds of years its fires have burned, to warm those living there...
It stands amongst the hills and vales, proud for all to see,

Its age has only helped to prove, its mighty dynasty
Those walls housed burly oxen, with which settlers broke the land
Its walls were lined with strong red brick, the weather to withstand
But then a home it did become, and is until this day,

A touching inspiration for all who pass its way
Families have come, and families have gone, for years there lingers there...
A proud hard working family,

whose land has shown their care,
No hydro poles or telephone lines are there to mar the scene
Instead, where ere your eyes are cast, are rolling hills of green
Often during the quiet hours, deer, fox and wolves are seen

With ever deepening twilight, each night the lamp is lit, glowing warmth...
Fills every room as beside the fire she sits
She was brought unto this homestead, a girl but in her teens,

And here she raised her family through years both hard and lean
Those fragile hands have worked the land behind many a sturdy team,
Chopped wood, mended fires and cooked the meals, for the family of 16

Two years have seen her family, go their separate ways,
But have seen no change in spirit, as she works away the days
Feeding hens, pumping water and splitting kindling wood
Within her lies the secret which makes life long and good

In these times of turmoil and strife, a mere visit to her lair,
Shows tranquility and peace, which is forever there,
Her door is always open for those who venture there,
And when they last departed,

were better for her care,
Her presence, even when elsewhere is forever there

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About the Author
Mario Vitale has written one thousand poems. Currently featured on Writer'scafe. Enjoys reading and writing poetry. Is an established writer & poet :
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