The Old Meeting Hall

I found this poem in MaryJane's Ideabook, Cookbook, Lifebook and it really struck a cord in me. It makes me long for the days gone by.

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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.

The neighbors all came form their farms

For camaraderie;

From tiny newborn babes in arms

To the deaf and doddery.

And they knew each other 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 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 hall speaks to me

Of things gone quite askew

In our present-day society

With its hype and ballyhoo.

For folks now 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 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 past and future meet right there

In that grange hall in the field.

Linked at Raising Homemakers