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