OUR MARSHY HOPE
Grandma said to be well fed.
You had to harness up the sled.
What did Grandma know.
Off to church she would go.
What did Grandma know?
She didn't worry about the snow.
In fact she said just let her blow.
The cellar is full with the seeds we sewed.
The barn is money in the bank.
And fuel for the horse's tank.
There was no grid, there was a higher power.
The milk was fresh and never sour.
Yes we have lost our marshy hope.
While searching always over the next slope.
Hope was always down the highway.
So the forests have reclaimed the byways.
Grandma had a sense of place.
She seldom left her beloved space.
In the forest on a hill.