A Beautiful Poem

I came across this poem in a book I am reading and because it spoke to my heart, I decided I must share it! 

The Old Meeting Hall

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 from their farms

For camaraderie;

From tiny newborn babes in arms

To the deaf & 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 achieve acclaim

From dancers yet unborn.

So keep the roof in good repair

And doors & windows sealed;

For past and future meet right there

In that grange hall in the field.

© Dick Warwick 
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author’s permission.

About Melissa Hartner

I am a mother of 4 little girls. A wife. A lover of nature. A farm girl at heart. I love anything food or health related. I strive to contribute more to this world than I consume. I enjoy learning and teaching!
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