Lonely Homestead

The hills remember songs our father sang
When riding range before the break of day.
The winding trails where happy laughter rang
Are silent now, yet all along the way
The same wild roses, radiant and gay,
Hold modest faces to the sun. The sound
Of playing children in the twilight's gray
Is heard no more. Nostalgic meadow-ground
Awaits with hope for eager steps to bound
Across its greening carpet to make sweet
Its longing hours. The loved old home is gowned
In loneliness and yearns for children's feet
To skip across its floors. The years speed fast
Leaving the homestead dreaming of the past.

Twilight Ritual

I long for the wine of assurance
Feeling the doubtings of men;
My ship returns to its home port
To a scene of my childhood again:

Aspens sing for the river's
Lyrics that never grow old.
Stars pin back the curtains of twilight
On the sky with a broach of pale gold.

The breezes are quietly strumming
Tree harps, while a killdeer's far cry
Tunes the heart to the peace of contentment,
To the cricket's lullaby.

Father calls all the family together
To kneel round the hearthstone in prayer.
The harps of the aspens cease strumming
As he talks to God listening there.

Some Things Are Timeless

When we returned to the old homestead,
Through tears we grieved to see
The lilac-and-orchard-joy was dead.
      Bare silence stood
      Where a song-filled wood
Had lured with its mystery.

The home that sheltered us--We were ten--
Had dwarfed, yet the echoes rang
A challenge to bid us to dream again.
      The mountains still high
      Touched remembered sky
And the same loved river sang.

Along the River Path

The sound of laughter pierced my loneliness,
A small boy's treble and a man's notes gay
As the meadow lark's clear fluting. Effortless
Along the river path they came my way,
The boy light-touching flowers as he skipped
Beside his Dad--Wild flowers God had sown.
The tall man stooped to kiss the face uptipped
And gently said, "My little son, my own!"

And suddenly I was a child again
Striding beside my father with my hand
Love-clasped in his. We were two "farmer men"
Exploring all the wonders of our land.
What tender memories to hold of one
Who carved the timeless footprints for his son!