The Road I Travel

The road that I'm on I have not traveled in years,
but the memories it brings back fill my eyes with tears.
I pass by the green, with its parade every year,
and the church with the bell made by Paul Revere,
the graveyard with heroes of the Revolutionary War,
and houses where neighbors do not live any more.
I pull onto the street that I know like my hand
and up to the place where that great old house stands.
A child who now lives there is playing outside
so I duck 'round the corner in order to hide.
I remember the birdbath out in the back,
and the birch tree with bark of white and black.
I attended reunions and funerals here;
this house, in my heart, is ever so dear.
Though the people are gone and the faces have changed,
the memories I have I will never exchange.
I stand here recalling events from the past
and wonder how it all happened so fast.
For time is a river, ever flowing, no rest,
and change is occuring, I hope, for the best.