I Love the Old

The hills no longer echo songs I sang

When copper glow announced the break of day.

The winding trails where children's laughter rang

Are concrete walks; and all along the way

Where pink wild roses, modestly yet gay,

Lifted their faces to the sun are found

Their cultured sisters flaunting an array

Of brilliant color. Thirsty, parching ground

Is now a greening carpet where abound

Tall junipers with pfitzers at their feet.

The loved old rambling home, enlarged and gowned

In luxury, is leisure's calm retreat.

Upon my soul the homestead left its stamp

For still I love to light the coal-oil lamp.