Long tired muscles ached with strain,
As they crested the top of the hill.
Tall brown grass graced the plain.
Resting, they ate their fill.
Loosely hanging the reins,
He let the oxen “blow”,
As he, the wife, and kids,
Eyed the wide valley below.
The woman climbed down,
Into the knee deep grass,
The boy quickly followed.
As did the lass.
From his higher perch,
The man shaded his eyes,
There was nothing to be seen
As far as a crow could fly.
“Is all this ours, daddy?”
Chirped the wee little lass,
He simply smiled at her,
As he pulled out an old looking glass.
Tenderly wrapped in cheese cloth,
It was weathered with age.
It’s history could fill a book,
With many, many a page.
It was a glass of the oceans,
To view the tidal spans,
First belonged to his great grandpap,
Since, passed down to his hands.
He searched the horizons,
The rim of the valley below.
The glass showed him the future.
His imagination began to glow.
There, along the creek,
He pictured a house and barn.
A corral for the animals,
The start of his own small farm.
The glass was returned to it’s holder,
He wiped a tear from his eye.
The wee lass was still watching,
She couldn’t see him cry.
Said, “Yes, darling it’s ours.
As far as your eyes can see.
But first we’ve a home to build,
Down there, in the bend of the creek.”
© Copyright 2016 Hamp. All rights reserved.
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