By Thelma Whitchurch Tuck
August 13, 1930-September 1, 2019
I believe in the things I can see with my eyes..
The geese and the ducks high up in the skies
The doe with her fawn going deep in the wood
The old mother hen as she cares for her brood
The fisherman quietly holding the line
The icicles hanging from oak tree and pine
My home, as it stands on the top of a hill
Meaning warmth and contentment, giving my heart a thrill.
But the best of all things that my two eyes can see,
Is the sight of “Old Glory” as she waves in the breeze.
I believe in the things I can hear with my ears…
The toll of a bell, the crowd with its cheers
The song of a bird, the hum of a bee
The low moaning wind as it blows through the trees
The cry of a baby, the notes of a song
The toot of a horn as the cars go along
The croak of a frog, the rain on the roof
Lowing cows in the pasture, a horse on the hoof
These are the sounds that my ears bring to me
In this wonderful country, the land of the free
I believe in the things I can smell with my nose.
A field filled with violets, a wild summer rose
The aroma of coffee, a pie or a cake
The smell of fish frying, just fresh from the lake
The burning of leaves, ground wet from rain
Freshly turned earth, or the smoke from a train
The smell of the woods with its cedar and pine trees
Newly mown hay, or a soft gentle lake breeze
Fruit blossoms in springtime, a field full of clover
Smoke from a campfire, when the day’s fun is over
To give up the pleasures we get from these things,
Is something we hope our life never will bring.