I am from the gravel pit,
From slimy frogs and muddy clothes.
I am from the tall trees,
beckoning to me, to come climb.
I am from the railroad tracks,
white, smooth sand left behind
in which we'd play.
I'm from Christmas cookies
and feasts during the holidays,
Warm, sweet/salty ham, dinner
rolls, and baked potatoes.
I'm from Mom playing the piano,
earning candy bars from
verses memorized at church, and
prayer before meals.
I'm from the father who prayed without ceasing,
from Ronda, Steve, Mark, Shelley, and Chris.
I'm from Ron and Jackie's branch,
weekends spent helping grandparents in Marion.
Traveling through the stone walls in Wabash en route.
I'm from the father
who lost his eye to the arrow,
his finger to the hatchet,
both compliments of the same brother.
I'm from family together times,
family loss times,
family triumphant times.
Mounds of memories
cherished in my heart.
Together, they make me who I am today.
Modeled after George Ella Lyon's "Where I'm From" poem...