Home

by Mae Ernst Elliot I leaned against the old rail fence and  watched the sinking sun, And thought of how many, many suns had set upon this scene. I saw the evening star hang: As cooling sand was felt beneath my feet. I looked toward the old gray house where families once had dwelt— The broken windmill, iron bedstead beneath the old oak tree— The fallen roof, the old chimney— what stories the could tell Of people who have lived and loved in that big family. I left the calf back in his pen and  drove the milk cow out And thought of all the cattle  that rail’d kept in and out. Through many years and seasons and  it was then I knew I was part […]