The hills no longer echo songs I sang
When copper glow announced the break of day.
The winding trails where children's laughter rang
Are concrete walks; and all along the way
Where pink wild roses, modestly yet gay,
Lifted their faces to the sun are found
Their cultured sisters flaunting an array
Of brilliant color. Thirsty, parching ground
Is now a greening carpet where abound
Tall junipers with pfitzers at their feet.
The loved old rambling home, enlarged and gowned
In luxury, is leisure's calm retreat.
Upon my soul the homestead left its stamp
For still I love to light the coal-oil lamp.
