The Farm on Buffalo Ridge
We moved there as I reached age four.
It was the farm my folks saved for.
I would come to love those verdant acres;
the stage for childhood memory makers.
Those years from 4 to 18 filled with toil;
our major duty tending cows; tilling soil.
So few days with refreshing solace;
though front yard trees were outdoor palace.
From top branches in the oak and maple,
I viewed with joy the outdoor table
on which my world was deeply rooted
while hidden so high was nearly muted.
Now I know what fed my soul.
It was wisdom in that leaf bound hole.
I pondered long of home and hearts,
and there refreshed my burdened parts.
I love that place with memories to treasure;
Safety, lavish love and truth mixed with leather.
Though years and distance dim my thoughts;
His strength grasped there remains my tether.