Cabin on the hill

This is for you Shane.

Back to the cabin
On the hill
Above the river
Where we used to play
When you were but a child
There's an old quart sealer
The lid rusted on
With nothing left inside it
Grandpa said once
That this was where
The old settlers used to live
Back when he was just a child
And the west was barely won
Now it's just
A worn down old shack
Sitting on a hill
The land around it
Still bears a crop
And the cows still amble by
And when we went by
Picking rocks and pulling weed
On those many hot summer afternoons
You used to ask me
What it was like
When the house was new and young
I'd weave you stories
Of cowboys and Indians
Like those old westerns you so loved
And you would listen
All afternoon
Right up 'till suppertime
Now you're not so young
And not so eager
To hear those old tall tales
You know nothing so exciting
Happened in that house
And you've grown tired of being there
Still I used to sit
On that hill next to the cabin
And weave tales for you
Just like all those long afternoons
Now the cabin is gone
And the river is dry
But the field still grows
And the cows still amble by
I no longer weave story's
Of cowboys and Indians
Now it's dragons and monsters instead
And dream of the days
When you would still listen
And smile wishing we were still young
And you and I were still picking
Rocks and weeds
And you would still listen
To the story's I told