March 8, 2007
Just yesterday, they started keeping house...
Molly was young and he was straight and tall.
"What am I offered for these maple chairs?"
He hears the droning voices rise and fall.
The bed in which they slept for fifty years,
The cherry table Molly always set,
The cradle that was never used, are sold.
The lengthened shadows deepen his regret.
The farm is offered last. A young man bids,
An eager Molly clinging to his hand.
The old man wonders if they know they buy
More than a farm, when they bid on his land.