With childhood eyes, reflecting

Clear mountain day, remembering

Fresh cut hay, reviving

Together we’d play, etching

Memories never to be forgotten

The morning crisp, awakening

Aromas hint, of baking

Small morning eyes, awaiting

The wrinkled chef, creating

The delicacies of home-made art

Calloused hands, observing

A rugged land, preserving

Unwilling souls, still learning

Dust and heat for hours, shaping

Young men soon to face the world

Cool mountain shadow, approaching

The weathered rancher, nodding

Nightly ventures, seeking

The crystal streams, providing

All a boy could ever want

The dinner table, calling

The cold night gently, falling

The glow from window, beaming

Through which family is seen, praying

Thanking God for what He’s given

The warm fire softly, crackling

The elder folk, chatting

While childhood eyes slip, drifting

Off to pleasant dreams, forever

Calling my heart back home to Bedford

…Jeff Bresee

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