Eulogy for a Farm

I still hear the children playing,

They have their own homes now.

I still hear the horses running,

They have passed away now.

I still hear the rain falling,

All that is left is mud.

I still hear the wind,

But it stirs only dead leaves now.


And for that, this eulogy is made:

The gardens still grow,

But they are dead to me.


This poem is about: 
My family
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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