I went to see the place of my beginnings:
The eighty acre farmstead where a child
Once played and laughed and sorrowed to
Through days which memory has beguiled
With special meaning.
Can this be the place?
Ah yes, I see the landmarks
The corner fence posts where the garden lay,
The stone-block house, our nearest neighbor.
It still is standing to this very day,
Though fast decaying.
I look to see the little farmhouse,
The hen-house and the orchard, too;
but all I see are waving prairie grasses
And naught to indicate the life I knew-
Still sharp in memory.
One never would suspect that here a family
Had laughed and loved and sorrowed, too
So well the prairie grasses guard the secret
That here a home once throbbed with the life we knew
But now has vanished.
It won't be long until I reach the goal allotted-
The Bible's threescore years and ten;
And soon all marks that I have been here
Will be erased just as my childhood's been
Though not forgotten.
This little place I've held for just a season
Will soon be occupied by others then
And nothing left to show the rhyme or reason
Of all my struggles, heartaches, and my sin-
Though now forgiven
As a flower of the field we briefly flourish
But soon are cut down and fade away
But it will not be so when we reach heaven
For there we'll stay forever and a day
Nor be forsaken.
Janice Weeks, Chamberlin, Hankins, Rogers