The oak trees

We are standing heavy-laden
 under the weight of this moss.
 No one can see us crying
 over all that we have lost.

 The old man that smoked a pipe
 and had a most devilish smile,
 no longer lives here~
 and has not for quite a while.

 The corn house is now empty
 but we protect it with our shade.
 We miss seeing the activity
 that all the people made.

 The lady that tended the flowers
 and made the house a home~
 just closed the doors on day
 and was,forever gone.

 The little girl comes back
 and visits us now and then.
 We are always glad to see her.
 She seems to smile again.

 We are old, gnarled and tired
 but we obediently guard the hill.
 At night as we are bathed in mist,
 We Can hear their voices still.