Going Back

Going back through many years,
When the west was wild.
And I in my growing up,
Was just a child.

When the big Home-Stead,
Had acres planted in wheat.
When rabbits...mice...and squirrels,
All came there...just to eat.

The old-well stood all boarded up,
With a bucket on a rope.
To have any water for the land we claimed,
Was far beyond...our hope.

Our house was hewn from knotted logs,
Dirt was on the floor.
With a two-paned window in the east,
And leather swung the door.

So often...at the close of day,
The Indians used to prowl.
And on a hill not far away,
I heard the coyotes howl.

E.P. 1908 - 1989