(Written at the request of my brother,
Vernon Weeks, for his Father,
Reo Charles Weeks 1889 - 1986)

    In a big white house in Iowa
    My father first saw light of day
    Almost a century ago
    And moved out West to live and grow.

    I see him now in memory
    As I was bounced upon his knee
    And herd the songs he used to sing
    Of "Froggie's school " and "Pretty Red Wing"
    Of "Panhandle Home" and "Just Plain Folks;
    And heard him laugh and tell his jokes

    As honest as the day is long
    His word was good as any bond.
    He was always happy and loved to tease
    And then worked hard and tried to please

    He was six foot two in his stocking feet;
    Was built like a horse and he loved to eat.
    He instilled in us the love of God
    While he guided the team as he tilled the sod.
    He brought out the best in everyone
    And he never would quit 'till the task was done.

    He loved his wife, his children and home
    And never was known afar to roam.
    He lived his faith and we'd not go astray
    if we followed his footsteps from day to day.

And now he's the last leaf on the tree
The patriarch of the family.
His steps are feeble now and slow
His eyes are dim and his voice is low,

The great-grandchildren gather 'round
The quavering voice is a treasured sound
As he sings the songs that he used to sing
When his voice was strong and his feet had wings.

    We remember him as he used to be.
    And we know that he'll have immortality;
    And we'll see him as he was long ago
    With a spring in his step and his face aglow.
    As for me I'll be proud if people can
    Point to me and say "There's a man
    Just like his dad.

    Janice Weeks, Chamberlin, Hankins, Rogers