For bedtime stories Granny always told
Adventures that would wonder-fill our eyes:
We heard the covered wagons as they rolled
Across the startled prairies, desert skies
Burning the sand. We knew the gnawing thirst
Parched throats endured. We stood beside a mound,
A little grave, and felt our hearts would burst
Lest hungry wolves disturb the hallowed ground.
Our feet kept time as violins sang out
The music for quadrilles and young folks danced
Within the wagon circle. We heard the shout
Which told the trek was done, then stood entranced
With Granny as she viewed the sage-bound loam
And saw the vision of her valley home.
