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- LONESOME PINE
- There stands a tree on the old homestead,
- the house is long since gone,
- it faces eastern mountains,
- and greets the morning dawn
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- Limbs stretch forth to give us shade
- from a scorching noonday sun,
- we spread our picnic blanket,
- and let the children run
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- Around us cones are scattered,
- some new, some very old,
- reseeding barren acres
- thru’ season’s heat and cold
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- A rock, etched with the family name,
- is posed there on the spot
- where grandpa built the farmhouse,
- may it never be forgot
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- Located on a mountain
- with valley floor below,
- why they chose to homestead here
- no one will ever know
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- The orchard now has crumbled
- leaving just the Lonesome Pine,
- to remind us of our heritage,
- ancestors back in time…
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Poetry by Tamara
Hillman
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Copyright 2005
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