A poem

I am going to feature for you reading pleasure a poem that my grandfather wrote. His is talking about the amount of old tractors that he owned. They were placed in what I would come to know as the junk yard.

A Grave Yard

By Elmo Sughroue

There is a grave yard on our family farm,
       But human bones do not rest there.
It's full of once proud machines of the past,
       Lines ond lines of ageless iron.
Whispers of other times,
       Neglected but not forgotten.
Rows of machinery from auction sales,
       A reminder of neighbors and friends.
Machines I loved to collect and own,
       Waiting to be restored by a loving hand.
To be proud and useful oncemore.
       Maybe some part needed to make repair,
Forever a link to the past.
       Remembered but replaced by newer machines.
Now I have passed away, I know,
       I will not walk this land.
Somehow through God's grace, I hope,
       Someone will understand,
And not disturb this hallowed spot.
       Secluded on the hills,
Where ageless iron sites in lines,
       A reminder of ther times.