Amanda Thing 1829-1918

Amanda Thing 1829 - 1918 BF and me We rode into this muddy enclave, This Quaker paradise high on an ever-descending hill In March of ‘87 With Sunshine, our roan mare, And a wagon full of old belongings and new hopes. I recall the mustard fields blooming that spring Like a million fires in the firmament, And these fiery fields were intensely difficult to plow. And the land had to be carved up like slaughtered meat To pave the way for the railroad And the first automobiles from Detroit. First time I saw one, I almost fainted. BF and me We spent many an afternoon in our feathered buggy instead With Sunshine, our roan mare, Riding the newly paved roads, From Rideout’s Driveway to County Road. And we saw, From the top of Friends Street The distant Catalina Island, Shrouded in the hazy Pacific, Like a sleeping giant under a brown blanket, And we gasped at the mystical beauty of it From our hilltop perch. When BF died of a stroke in ’07, I buried him in Clark Cemetery And I thought I would never survive the grief. But God sustained me as always And I lived eleven more years by myself, Among the roses and tulips Of my Whittier Avenue cottage. At 89 I died an old and tired lady, More than ready to meet my sweet Savior. My funeral was grand indeed! They put baby roses on my casket, And said the Lord’s Prayer. Then they put me next to BF.