New, brick, fancy doesn’t fit.
There it sits in a field sold
When times were lean, stark
Reminder when hail shredded crop .  

Folks live there, keep to themself,
Not handy when troubles strike
And every soul is needed to help
Fight back whatever foe attacks.

The lost field laid with a gentle rise
Covered with daisies, clover, rye
In season. Trickle of a stream sang by
On its way to the earthen blocking dam.  

Driving by house four, my eyes blur,
A kindness that spares the sight
And lets the day be undisturbed by
Thought of the storm cost loss.  

The road folks do not have years
Enough to let the house join us.
Stubborn, proud ever clanned
By a past that is slipping into dust.  

Fences make good neighbors? Well,
New houses don’t echo Frost.
We hug our past and wishes tell
Of yesterday and yesterday’s lost.