The Auction at the Farm


The neighbors gathered in the yard to have a look around,
The cowboy hatted auctioneer had yet to make a sound.
There’re trailers full of household goods and tools from the shed;
The furniture sits on the lawn, there’s even grandma’s bed.

The time for selling’s finally here, anticipation’s great
We hear the savvy auctioneer say “bid ‘fore it’s too late.”
He hollers, “Here’s an antique cart, who’ll give a dollar, who?”
Before you know it, bless their hearts, the bid’s at twenty two.

He sells the roasters, pots and pans; the dishes and the stove;
he even sells the old spice rack complete with mace and clove.
He sold the books that grandpa read when all his chores were done;
he even sold his hunting gear; his rifle and his gun

When Martha bought the old upright, I shed a tear or two
But cried outright when grandpa’s fiddle sold to Mary Lou.
The birdcage from the sitting room (with feathers on the floor)
was wanted by a dozen folks and sold for eighty-four.

The day wore on, the sun was hot; the auctioneer kept going
I sat and sipped my diet coke while he sold things for sewing;
He even sold the geese and ducks, the chickens and the swans
And sixteen doorknobs grandpa made from silver and from bronze.

The bible was the last to go but no-one seemed to care,
The buyers gathered up their treasures, left for who knows where;
The auctioneer had done his work and gathered up his pay,
Now all that’s left are memories to brighten up my day.

The things they auctioned off today are nothing but the tools
We use to make it through this life without becoming fools.
You can live without the china and the fancy serving platters,
But the time you spend with people, that’s the thing that really matters.


© 2014  R. Mark Vincent

Public Domain Photo