In Honor

A monument of service,
So stately in its prime.
Now old...and so deserted,
With weather stains of time.

T'was built in frontier days,
Sheltering a happy brood.
Within its walls...a haven,
When Indian bands pursued.

Now, its roof is leaning,
The shutters loudly beat.
When some one enters at the door,
The rats and mice retreat.

It surely saddens every heart,
To have old-things decay.
For new things...coming up,
Something must make way.

E.P. 1908 - 1989