It is not fair
That you are not here
I talk to the walls
As if you will appear.
The stove is off,
Nothings burning.
I miss the smoke
Pyromaniac’s yearning.
The yard is quiet
Red’s not whacking
Far too quiet,
Something is lacking.
No greeting as I arrive
Martha is gone
But the old Maine house
Is still alive.
Alive and waiting
For you all to appear
To lift a glass
And shed a tear.
They loved "you all"
And held you dear
They missed you both
When you weren’t here.
The Maine House waits
For the family now
Red and Martha’s family
As fate will allow.
We will all come back
To the house we love
As Red and Martha smile
Happy at peace up above.
We will tell the stories
From our different views
Each of us victims
of The Maine House, Our muse.
Tom – written first on July 28,2013
re-written – September 12, 2024
still true.
