The Fence

I defined my owner's land proudly. I was strong being made of fine iron. Men worked for months crafting me into an elegant design. I was painted black with a glossy finish. People strolling by would say, "What a lovely fence!" I stood tall, surrounding a large southern mansion at the turn of the century.

Because of wars, World War I in particular, many of the fences like me were taken and used for metal. They say that I am "rare" whatever that means.

I was sold after the house was left in ruins because of the Civil War. A wealthy family in Vermont traveled far to move me to my new home. I still don't understand all this talk about "money."

I am privy to conversations no one else is supposed to hear.

Cars replaced the horses.

People are wearing some crazy things these days.

I have seen world leaders pass through my gate. Why do I not see the common man?

Where are the children, picnics, weddings and parties in the yard?