IN REMEMBERANCE OF
MARY JANE WEAVER
June 23, 1941 - July 9, 2003

MY HOME TOWN

Once there was a place so true
with grass so green and skys so blue,
A little creek ran all around
across our valley and through our town.

One little park with pepper trees
then brimmed with laughter and summer breeze,
The fields of grapes so juicy then
sweet scent of orange blossoms, then blew in the wind.

A whisp of white clouds did float overhead,
securely we slept as we climbed into bed;
Wild oats as wild wheat in our field did blow,
Tall palm trees did line our main street then below.

With farming and orchards our main occupation,
we lived then in harmony, and fought for our Nation.
Our wants were so little, we had what we needed
We grew up with love, then as adults proceeded...

Then people came to populate,
They quickly swept away this great,
and loving place which we called home;
where families grew and did hapiness roam.

Now! As I stand and look around,
I cry a tear for my home town,
For in this time of love of money,
we sacrifice so much!

As time goes on, good standards gone,
and peaceful rest, a dream at best.
A cry to build, the valley filled,
with people, crime and sorrow...

As progress came and changed the scene,
the root and the hopes as well as the dreams.
They left not a memory,
a mark or a thought for tomorrow,

For the people who once were a part of this place,
to reach out and longingly think of and touch,
remembering, my heart is so sad, as I miss it so much...
My home town.


December 5, 1990

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