A farmhouse stands amid an Oregon prairie
I'm lonesome for the old trails
That wound across the plain,
The willows by the coulee's rim
That swished against the rain.
For cattle bawling in the night,
The coyote's lonely cry,
For sage and buffalo willow smoke
Drifting to the sky.
I'm lonesome for the old trails
For round-up time and spring,
The homesick songs a-drifting by
The cowboys used to sing.
I want to watch the stars come out,
Like candles in the dark,
And hear around the old corral
The dog's welcome bark.
I want the little sounds once more
That common folk like me
Were raised to love and listen for,
The droning of a bee.
And cattle feeding on the range
The first pale light of morn,
I'm going back where I belong,
For I am prairie born.
Edna Jaques
Taken from Memories of Times Past, Ideals Publication Incorporated, Nashville, Tn. 1998 Pg 73.