Where the Yellow Roses Bloom
There is a place one may go
relying upon memories,
To recall happy, joyful times
between friends and families;
Where the dew-sweet scent of yellow roses
drifts through all the rooms,
For in the yard, along the porch
grew a mass of heavenly blooms.
Times were tough and some were hard
living in Modoc land,
But if in need, there seemed to be
a neighbor to lend a hand;
Homesteads granted, houses sprouted,
forming a community,
Neighbors made friends, friends made family
portraying pioneer unity.
Out across the vacant way
an elegant house one stood,
A sturdy shelter, a loving home
resorting to a pile of wood;
‘Tho the Derevan house is there no more
many memories still remain,
Without a voice, forever dwelling where
the yellow roses bloom again.
A veteran, rancher and proprietor
of the Pioneer Saloon,
Grandpa served under Civil War skies,
red, white, blue, gray and maroon;
Summertime haying and fall field burning,
he raised herds of prized livestock,
A G.A.R. political businessman
he opened the first Bank of Modoc.
The red-hot stove in Grandma’s kitchen
beckoned all with scents of food,
Many a day, through her years
she fed a hungry brood;
Warm soda biscuits with wild plum jam,
a venison mince-meat pie,
Homemade aromas filled the air
inviting to all who dropped by.
Some folks say you can never go back
to a special time or place,
‘Tho a lovely fragrance with a fond memory
cannot easily be erased;
Wild scents of sage and juniper swirl
into the high desert mountain air,
But, none so sweet as the Pioneer Rose
can another scent compare.
Countless times, a start was dug,
along another porch to plant,
Surviving for future generations,
a cousin, grandchild or aunt;
Over a 100 years have come and gone
yet the breeze still gently blows
The heavy-sweet, pungent perfume
from the blooms of the Harison Rose.
c. February 5, 2005
The wilderness and solitary place shall be glad for them;
And the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose.
Isaiah 35:1
relying upon memories,
To recall happy, joyful times
between friends and families;
Where the dew-sweet scent of yellow roses
drifts through all the rooms,
For in the yard, along the porch
grew a mass of heavenly blooms.
Times were tough and some were hard
living in Modoc land,
But if in need, there seemed to be
a neighbor to lend a hand;
Homesteads granted, houses sprouted,
forming a community,
Neighbors made friends, friends made family
portraying pioneer unity.
Out across the vacant way
an elegant house one stood,
A sturdy shelter, a loving home
resorting to a pile of wood;
‘Tho the Derevan house is there no more
many memories still remain,
Without a voice, forever dwelling where
the yellow roses bloom again.
A veteran, rancher and proprietor
of the Pioneer Saloon,
Grandpa served under Civil War skies,
red, white, blue, gray and maroon;
Summertime haying and fall field burning,
he raised herds of prized livestock,
A G.A.R. political businessman
he opened the first Bank of Modoc.
The red-hot stove in Grandma’s kitchen
beckoned all with scents of food,
Many a day, through her years
she fed a hungry brood;
Warm soda biscuits with wild plum jam,
a venison mince-meat pie,
Homemade aromas filled the air
inviting to all who dropped by.
Some folks say you can never go back
to a special time or place,
‘Tho a lovely fragrance with a fond memory
cannot easily be erased;
Wild scents of sage and juniper swirl
into the high desert mountain air,
But, none so sweet as the Pioneer Rose
can another scent compare.
Countless times, a start was dug,
along another porch to plant,
Surviving for future generations,
a cousin, grandchild or aunt;
Over a 100 years have come and gone
yet the breeze still gently blows
The heavy-sweet, pungent perfume
from the blooms of the Harison Rose.
c. February 5, 2005
The wilderness and solitary place shall be glad for them;
And the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose.
Isaiah 35:1
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