As I was riding back from Brownwood today, I saw an old, broken-down farmhouse. I thought of how beautiful it must have been, and wondered why such a house was so close to such a busy highway. Then I realized that the house was older than the highway, and that the highway must have ruined the effect the house once held. I felt sad that such a house much endure the disgrace of a busy highway being so close. So when I got home, I wrote this. It is a little disjointed, but I wrote it fast, so maybe I can trim it up later.
This story may start anywhere, really.
A young couple stretches their wings.
They find ranching land,
They make a plan,
And they build on a hill in the trees.
They work all day in the hot Texas sun,
They build according to dream.
They laugh as they work
And sometimes they don't
But they know that they're quite a team.
A house takes form slowly but surely,
They saw it in their mind's eye.
The Good Lord has blessed
They're hard work and efforts
They did it, they didn't just try.
Summer comes quickly in this part of Texas,
And so did the bugs and the heat
But another blessing
Is on it's way soon
A blessing with small hands and feet
A small Texan family farms on a hillside.
They work and they play in the sun.
The family grows,
Slowly but surely
And everywhere small children run.
The children grow up and times, they change.
The children begin to yearn.
They wonder just what
Is outside the farm
And they leave, wanting to learn.
One day they come home with new ideas,
They startle the tender old couple
Progress is coming
Coming to Texas!
To the parents, it just sounds like trouble
Now a farmhouse once run by a loving young couple
Is now run by humming machines
They purr and clank
And they all seem so loud
The "Good Life" breaks all old routines
The old country road that runs by the house
Was once a place to wave to good friends.
Now it is blacktopped
And cars scream by
And frankly it now just offends
The couple is told they were poor, but not anymore
They don't really understand how they are richer
And they slowly grow older
Among the new gadgets
And don't really believe their life is better
The couple that once was so very happy
Pass away in the farmhouse they built
The children soon sell
The dream of their parents
And it sits and degrades and it wilts,
People speed by on the highway and see a young couple's dream
Slowly fall down with time and with age
It is the brand of the era
And people scoff
And they are glad that times have changed.
I have imagined this story for a house on the hill
It may be close to the truth, it may not
But now the house falls
And is in disrepair
Imagine your own story, if you want to give it a shot.
Hope you enjoyed it, Tracy Bunker