Where shall we go since the old home place is gone?

Mama’s gone, and papa’s gone;

All the little children have long-since grown

And live in the city with children of their own.

Tell me, where shall we go

For birthdays and Christmas and Sunday stew?

Grandma is gone; the recipe she knew

For blueberry pie is lost now, too.

What shall we do?

The old home place is vanished now,

No longer fields will feel the plow

Or hands reach into the apple tree.

Old Brutus is gone. But what about we?

The old home place lives in our hearts,

With memories of quilting arts

And canning beans fresh from the vine

And laundry hanging from the line.

Summer’s fun and winter’s sleep

Remembered in our hearts so deep,

The pictures glow and come alive –

Fond memories of the family hive

That buzzed and blustered all year round