Bedford
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
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