Speaking fondly of the ranch
One way I can pay tribute now.
The ranch was an entity of my identity.
The Lombardy poplars leading me
Home when I got lost
Deep starry nights and crisp clear skies
The train whistling when I went to sleep
Infinite treasures in native ruins
A stream with hot springs and geese
Peacocks crying in the willow tree
Stubborn ponies eating loco weed
Two and a half stories worth
of memories in the house
and a cellar of accumulated history
Radioactive lead plates, a mysterious tunnel and a secret journal
Typewriters, rotary phones, and painted china,
drumsticks in the freezer, beaded curtains, closets full of surprises,
pieces of paper wrapped in rubber bands on the desk,
knick knacks on bookshelves and oil paintings on the walls,
Grammi's tales and three playful dogs
for each playful child filling the living room
It was entertainment before dial up
Endless exploration in the house, on the ranch, through the states.
A picture, a price and a few pieces of stamped paper
Were an unjust estimation of worth.
