IT WAS HOME

A little old house in a sheltered nook, Some cottonwood trees near a babbling brook, A sturdy gnarled oak by a grassy lane That leads to green pastures past flowing grain. A trellised rose bush hides a crumbling wall, Where lovers have stood near the waterfall; Beyond the sun sets in a golden glow And shadows stretch far to the mead below. A shining wire fence follows up the hill And curves about to the graded fill. Then back to the house in a cozy spot We loiter there on the hallowed lot, Where Mother's sweet face waits, in gentle calm, And Father sits near and roads an old psalm.