The Cracker House
It's just a little Cracker house
By a dusty road
The boards are gray and splintered
It's nobody's abode.
Ropes of vines encase the porch
Where good ol' boys once sat
Talked of crops and deeds and herds
Then tobacco spat.
The rotted door hangs crooked
It welcomes no one in
For collard greens and biscuits
And then a swill of gin.
The window frames are sagging
The tin roof creaks its woes
Beside the sunken mossy steps
One bright red flower grows.
Here people laughed and people cried
Each knew the other's load
And shared this little Cracker house
By a dusty road. By Katherine Von Ahnen
I decided to type this in as it was so hard to read in its original form. Not sure if you can see it but in the picture up by the front porch there is a circle, that is the red flower growing.