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Nothing left but an old well
just off a dim road overgrown
to hint where others used to dwell
and tend the crops that they had sown

Where once fields grew and a home stood
this hole is all that's left
all overcome by hoary wood
of all but wanderers bereft

Whose forefathers worked this land
such a long, long time ago ?
where the tall pine trees now stand
I guess I'll never know

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Editing stage: 


an archaeologist's dream and an anthropologist's challenge. But the layperson too does receive a beckoning from the voices of our collective past, whispering in the winds and guarded by the seasons. I guess we will never know everything. But it links us somehow and provides a continuity - thus having received the baton we run with it and pass it to the next generation into posterity.

'Break, break break on thy cold grey stones, O Sea.'

while hoping we leave more than forgotten traces when we are gone. Very good of you to come by and comment..............scribbler

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I am trying to write Some poems that don't ramble on so much( not always successful though lol). Always good to hear from site's newest fiance...........................stan

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you may be remembering " Crumbled Bricks ", "forgotten dreams", from here or "Homeplace" from old site. I find myself drawn to this theme occasionally lol.If not , Do post the one that's niggling at your memory....................stan

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yet another write which is testimony of your compassionate and empathetic heart...


raj (sublime_ocean)

thank you raj. I expect it takes one to know one.....................stan

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