I dedicate this little collection
of thoughts to my beloved
wife, Susan Harvey Liepe
Life
Life is like a flowing river,
From its source down to the sea
At the spring there's but a quiver
Along its course a fall may be.
Some flow gently through meadows green
Wild flowers clustering on the shore
In others, rocks amid the rapids gleam
While dashing onward! Onward evermore.
Grandma's Birthplace
There's a lane leading down to the valley
All deeply rutted and worn,
To the home on a rugged hillside,
The place where I was born.
The brook still flows through the meadow
Where the birds sing their sweet song,
But voices that called the cows in
Are silent today and gone.
Rocks in the wall have crumbled
Where once the cataract fell,
Here 'neath a spreading sycamore stands
The springhouse in a shady dell.
Walls of the barn are tottering
The milk pails clatter no more,
Fires from heaven have ended
Its long and useful chore.
Over there I on yonder hillside
The pioneer owner is at rest
Standing erect in the casket
To guard the place he loved best.
My Home
I love my home in the wildwood
Amid the trees, the birds, and the flowers
Here in dreams I go back to my childhood
On a bench 'neath the green bowers.
The Old Weymouth Furnace
Among the trees on the river strand,
Tottering walls of an ancient furnace stand.
Here men toiled many long years ago,
While the fires cast a vivid glow.
Now the fragrant honeysuckle sprawls,
Over the fallen foundry walls.
The chipmunk chatters far above;
While in the thicket coos the dove.
Across the way, where brambles grow among the trees,
A silvery lake once rippled in the breeze.
And on the river's yonder shore,
The town of Weymouth is no more.
Just a ghost town today,
With bats and hoot owls holding sway.
Egg Harbor Then and Now
Upon a concrete highway,
we're speeding on, - or bust,
Where once upon a country road,
old Dobbin tread the dust;
The place where once the smithy stood,
a service station stands.
The chestnut tree is there no more,
the smith's in fairer lands.
Parking meters the line curbs,
where people shop and trade.
Here once the lowly hitching post,
stood in the maple shade.
One time a barber shop quartet,
with melodies filled the air;
We now see television,
and hear the radio blare.
If our founders could come back,
the pioneer retrace
They'd find the quaint village
is now a busy place.
Would they give praise,
or would they sigh; say
That dear old word, Gemutlicheit,
- is seldom heard today.
The Old Swimming Hole
Tall grow the weeds by the old swimming pool
Where the rowboat used to stand.
Here the young folks romped in the waters cool
While the kiddies built mounds in the sand.
The old rustic bench 'neath the maple tree,
Lies crumbling on the ground;
From the diving dock once came shouts of glee
Today there's not a sound.
The young folks, they have drifted away,
To the North, South, East and West.
The oldsters who watched from the banks one day,
Lay over the hills at rest.
The beaver returned from his exile moat,
To his ancestors home once more;
While the frogs are bleeping their dreary note
Among the reeds on the shore.
The Grand Old Winter Time . . 1956
Spring has gone, Summer's past,
Autumn went it's way.
Snow lays deep; the wind blows strong,
Winter's here to stay.
Frosty crystals on the windowpane
In flowers and ferns galore
Icicles drooping from the roof
Of the shed by the kitchen door.
Children coasting on their sleds
Having lots of fun
The snowman's guarding at the gate
While the snowball battle's won.
Grandma's resting in her chair
And that's a very good sign
We're sitting by the fireplace
In the grand old wintertime.
Homeward Bound
Carry me back to my native land
Where the fragrant magnolias grow,
Where the pixie vine creeps on the mossy sand
And the pines grow shrubby and low;
Where the thrush with its warbly springtime call
Awakes the wild flowers from their nest,
Where the brook slowly flows 'neath the cedars tall,
And the blackbird builds its nest.
Oh, take me back and let me stay
Where the luscious blueberries grow,
Where the heron wings its lonely way,
There's no dearer place that I know;
Where the waves roll on with a murmuring din
And break over the sandy shore,
The voice grows feeble, the vision dim,
My wandering days are over.
High rise the mountains in far off lands
Crowned with castles of old,
Bright gleam the shades of coral sands
With palms and flowers untold.
Although amid castles and cathedrals grand
Through places we roam;
Now by our humble cot we stand
The place we love is home.
Autumn
Falling leaves -- they tell a story
At the ebbing of the year.
Summer's gone with all its glory
Wintry days will soon be here.
Mother dear, deep lines are forming
Upon your features once so fair,
Silvery locks your brow adorning
Where once flowed your dark brown hair.
Down life's sunset trail we're guided
By an old love that is ever nigh
The flames of youth have long subsided
Glowing embers of a true love never die.
A Last Wish
Oh lay me to rest in the wildwood
When the pearls of dew greet the springtime dawn.
I'll be there!
Summer days with skies a hazy blue,
Autumn sunset tints clouds a brilliant hue,
When wintry nights bring twinkling stars to view.
I'll be there!
Oh lay me to rest in the wildwood
When the maple's fringed with crimson.
I'll be there!
Shady lanes in woodlands cool and green,
Tinted leaves in multi colored scheme,
When the pines with frosty crystals gleam.
I'll be there!
Oh lay me to rest in the wildwood
When the whip-poor-wills are calling.
I'll be there!
Watch the swallows soaring high,
Hark the blue jays doleful cry
When the snowbirds twitter and fly.
I'll be there!
Oh lay me to rest in the wildwood
When the fragrant May pink blossoms.
I'll be there!
Graceful ferns clustering dense and low
Goldenrod amid the wayside asters glow
When they're sleeping 'neath the snow.
I'll be there!
On Our Golden Wedding Day
On this day there came a greeting
From our friends of far and near,
How we cherished once more meeting
All the folks so fond and dear.
Oh, how fast the hours fleeted,
While they lingered in our midst
Soon the flowers will have faded
Long the memory will persist.
December 9, 1950
Recollections of Bermuda
Far out in the briny ocean
Where the white caps toss and foam
Fairy isles of man's devotion
There the lovers choose to roam.
Stately palms and picturesque cedars grow
On the hills and on the rock bound shore,
Coral reefs that glisten white as snow
Dot the emerald landscape forevermore.
Along the coral walls we meander
Listening to the wild canaries' song,
Down through the lanes of oleander
Where the morning glory blooms all day long.
Friendly folks, we'll long remember
The pleasant hours we spent with you
Balmy days in bleak December
Bright with sunshine and shadows few.
Isles, of flowers and waters blue
Keep thy vigil far at sea,
We came, we saw, and learned to love you,
Now, we bid farewell to thee.
October Views
Autumn makes the wildwood
A wonder to behold
Turns the emerald of the summer
To a vivid red and gold.
Paintings by great artists
Much admired o'er and o'er
But the one who tints the landscape
Is the Master evermore.
In God's Creation
There's a place I love to worship
In the woodlands fair and green
Where the blue skies have no ending
far beyond the hills serene.
Man built temples and cathedrals
Mosques and synagogues
But the place I choose to worship
Is 'neath a forest built by God.
With their crowns skyward soaring
While their boughs swing in the breeze,
Such as I am writing poems
God alone can build the trees.
By a vast and lonely seaside
Where mighty breakers cleanse the sand;
With sacred thoughts to the creator
Bowed in reverence I stand.
In the morn when dawn is breaking
And the birds bring forth a song,
Now's the time to stop and ponder;
Am I doing right or wrong?
Stars are twinkling bright from heaven
And the time is growing late;
Have I done my honest duty?
Now's the time to meditate.
To Our Buzz
Our boy has left us one and all
To sail the bounding main
Although he's brave and tries to smile
At heart he's feeling pain.
Far away the briney waves are leaping
While at home the loving hearts are beating
Waiting for a happy future day
When our boy is coming home to stay.
Memories of George Henry Liepe
Liepe Family History