Jan. 21, 2001

A copy of a poem I wrote called "The Auction." Several Months ago, I submitted it to the Downhome Kitchen site under my Flitting Firefly name. Thought your readers might enjoy it.

The Auction

Out driving in the country late last summer,
An auction at a farm I chanced to see.
While seeking out a bargain or treasure,
I saw an old man sitting by a tree.

I stopped to chat and asked, "Is this your farm sir?"
He smiled and wiped a teardrop from his eye.
"This auction sale of memories and dreams, lad,
Is here because life quickly passes by."

My furniture is scattered 'round the doorway.
These strangers come for bargains on display.
The first step of my final trip has started,
With an auction sale of memories today.

That table and those chairs stood in my kitchen.
Their well-worn seats are proof of many meals
Our family shared in friendship with our callers.
There's something about a kitchen that appeals.

The old brass bed is shining in the sunlight.
Young couples here to bid on such a prize.
Our babies were all born in that old bedstead.
To think of it brings teardrops to my eyes.

A crib, some dolls and boxes from the attic,
The auctioneer will soon exchange for cash.
I'm sad to know that I will lose my treasures.
To stranger's eyes these things may look like trash.

For sixty years my wife and I were happy.
Our marriage and our home were very blessed.
Then Mary grew so frail with pain and suffering,
And God in mercy took her home to rest.

To carry on myself was very lonely.
This auction sale of memories makes me sad.
The children all agreed with one suggestion,
"We think you'd better sell the old place, Dad."

They'll be here soon, so I'll say thanks for listening.
One last time through these rooms, I'd like to roam.
Goodbye old house, goodbye to happy memories.
The kids are here to take me to the home.   Submitted By: NULL