Old Homestead

When I go back to childhood,
And to the old homestead.
When I stand on that treasured soil,
Where oft my bare-feet tread.

May no impatient person,
Hurry me up...and say.
Come on...let's be going,
We should be on our way.

I want to ease life's tedious ways,
And some refreshment find.
From cities far-off troubles,
That I have left behind.

I want to be secluded there,
To linger long until.
A full-moon sends its radiance out,
And slips above the hill.

I want to scan familiar scenes,
And find that play-house nook.
To wander on that treasured ground,
Beside the running brook.

I want my toes to barely touch,
Where once I went to wade.
I want to pick blue-violets there,
That's nestled in the shade.

I want to crawl upon my hands,
Neath willows and the birch.
To watch the glassy dragon-fly,
A-resting on his perch.

I want to see the far-off knoll,
Where coyotes often prowl.
To wake up in the dark of night,
And hear their long-drawn howl.

I want to gaze into the sky,
At craggy-heights o'er head.
And watch the hawks a-sailing on,
In one continuous spread.

I want to kneel upon the sod,
Where once was my abode.
And from a grown-up thicket patch,
To find a winding road.

And when my soul has found relief,
From that forsaken loam.
I'll gladly then...retrace my steps,
That leads me to my home.


E.P. 1908 - 1989

Karmen N. Miller; Ethel's great, great granddaughter - approximately 5 miles from the Womack Springs homestead.