Returning, we drive through a quiet lane

Bordered by chokecherries, a wild rose hedge;

Remembering, are children once again

Until our car comes to the river's edge.

We stop and long for white-top-buggy days

With Nell and King to pull us through the stream.

Walking the footbridge every creak betrays

The weight of years. Nostalgically we dream

With misty eyes of joys we knew before

We left the homestead. Now we hesitate,

Yearning to see our mother at the door,

Our father waiting by the open gate.