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Behind the Grindstone: Stories

By Bill Bunting

July 4, 2024

History has always been an interest of mine. There’s nothing that gains my attention more than the ruins of an old house. Much time has been spent quietly attempting to connect with the past. Some answers seem to have been lost forever.

What stories these old rocks could tell
Stacked and laid where families dwell
Now fallen in a jumbled heap
What secrets they are bound to keep

I cross the threshold of the door
Where others walked long before
I wonder what their names might be
And their lives and history

Where did they come from, where did they go
The rocks won’t tell if they know
Why were they there, what did they do
The rock corral gives a hint or two

Their memory is now long erased
Was their life and work a waste
What could the purpose of life be
That doesn’t leave a memory

But down throughout the past ages
History was kept on verbal pages
Memories of the days of old
Were remembered by the stories told

Someone must have forgot to tell
Or others weren’t listening well
So the history of these rocks was lost
Now we have to face the cost

And wonder at the fallen heap
What secrets they are bound to keep
Just jumbled rocks ‘neath the canyon wall
Long forgotten by one and all

At least, that’s the view here from behind the grindstone.

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