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 of that family,
and I had memories too.
