My Sentiments Exactly

I found this on and borrowed it from my friend Gary’s blog (the friend who kick started my desire to reach My Chazown by the way), who himself borrowed it from HERE. This is the type of thing we are trying to achieve said so beautifully.

A Poem...


The Old Meeting Hall:
by Dick Warwick

An Old Grange hall stands bereft
In a field of waving wheat
The people all have long since left
Where once with flying feet

They danced the fiddle's lively reels,
And do-si-doed in squares
But television and automobiles
Have ended such affairs

Thee neighbors all came from their farms
For camaraderie
From tiny newborn babes in arms
To the deaf and doddery

And they knew eachother well, with all
their virtues, strengths, and faults;
They'd get together in the hall
For the foxtrot and the waltz

To share their pies and socialize,
Talk of kids and kitchens-
Of critters, crops, and days gone by;
Mark births and deaths and hitchin's.

For we were all one family then,
Though perhaps not blood related-
Yes, I remember way back when
We all cooperated.

We all helped each other in a pinch
Or sometimes just for fun;
If you needed help it was a cinch
Your project would get done.

Though times back then were somewhat lean,
Entertainment- it was free;
When folks would in that hall convene
And friends and neighbors see.

And that old grange all speaks to me
Of things gone quite askew
In our present-day society
With it's hype and ballyhoo.

For now folks travel fast and far,
Meet schedules with precision;
And when they're not out in the car
They're watching television.

The art of actual conversation
Is rather antiquated-
We've lots of information,
But can't communicate it.

Oh sure, we can download it
And shift it place to place;
But there's few who can decode it
Into words of style and grace.

So I miss the meeting hall of old,
And I wish you could have known
How it was to cross the threshold
Of that place, now overgrown.

And dance all night with the neighbor gal
That you'd known since you were small;
Or meet your fated femme fatale,
And in love forever fall.

Now that old building stands forlorn
Yet still foursquare and sound;
Though by the wind and weather worn
It could someday be rebound,

For it hasn't yet been set aflame
Nor from its footings torn,
And it may yet receive acclaim
From dancers yet unborn.

So keep the roof in good repair
And doors and windows sealed;
For the past and future meet right there
In that grange hall in the field.