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Home Farm

The fields, the creek,
Steep valley descent,
Encircled young lives
And shaded each bent.
Hopes and grit furled,
Dreams quenched and lit,
A mile from the world,
More or less-just a bit.
Church in German, surprising first week.
And cow paths skirted the creek.

From the Spring day
That the caravan came,
Herded cows, miles away,
Rode truck only if lame.
Beside all the stock
Flew saved pheasants, raised.
The house bode hard work;
Creek's beauty was praised.
A stout dairy barn
Lifted hopes for success.
A small girl saw the charm,
Hopped around in her dress.
That evening, both smiles and tears on the cheek,
And cow paths skirted the creek

An enterprising farmer,
Brave wife, daughter, three sons,
On these rocky acres,
Some ground lost, more won.
Ingenuity launched
What brawn must bring forth.
Corn was grown, milk cows raised,
Made records, gained worth.
High on the hill,
Their gambrel-roofed lair,
Haughty, faded, and humble,
Awaiting repair.
A young family grew,
No slacking allowed.
Mom worked house and farm too,
Dad, with zeal was endowed.
Three little boys, hired hand,
Sometimes the crew made
Filling out the work force,
But sister just played.
Warm times came at dinner
Or supper with prayer,
Though ambitious aims
And fatigue, too, were there.
The church on the hill began each new week,
And cow paths skirted the creek.

In that Home Farm woods
And fields of work done
Came grief, shared caring,
and will to go on.
Boys and sister learned
To shoulder the task.
From Mama, they'd learned
How to do what was asked.
Through work, sports, and college,
Family persevered.
Young romance and marriage
Grandchildren appeared.
The now lonely man
Was given new life,
As a solitaire Dad
Got a cheery new wife.
Changes again easing the bleak.
And cow paths skirted the creek.

Grandchildren numerous,
Climbed in the mow,
Ran by the creek,
Ate grandma's good chow,
Helped in the fields
On stays at the farm
Put on quilts for the cold,
'Round the fire to get warm.
Again grief was faced;
The farmer went home.
Of Home Farm, its future,
What would become?
A school for young boys,
With a pastor as head?
Efforts fervently applied,
But change came instead.
Sons, teachers, botanist, pastor,
To Home Farm felt drawn,
But, now home with the Lord
To their final farm gone
The circle now seen
As Home Farm moves on,
The hands of new owners
Be blessed with each dawn,
Among the green hillsides, find what they seek,
Where rushes now skirt the creek.

05/30/2012 Carol Morfitt Welch

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