IN THE FALLING SUMMER RAIN
                                                      
                                                       
                                                      Oh my family good and bad,
                                                      they have spent many times together.
                                                      In our fathers house lies the history of our happy band.
                                                      Once each played here and paused off to hear the sweet rain,
                                                      that came and fell on the roof above,
                                                      In the falling summer rain.
                                                      
                                                       
                                                      "Betty" was the first born.
                                                      On the first lid smooth and fair,
                                                      I look with loving eyes at the tomb that bears your name.
                                                      Be careful eyes that never came.
                                                      Death stole her quietly away, 
                                                      for she is the gentle summers rain.
                                                      
                                                       
                                                      "Roy" is the eldest of the boys.
                                                      He is the first child that you will see.
                                                      He was first to do things with a boyish pride
                                                      here lies hid are the histories of his farmers life.
                                                      And memories that were filled long ago,
                                                      In the falling summer rain.
                                                      
                                                       
                                                      "Roger" came next with a fair hand that passes through the night.
                                                      He was the first to tinker with cars with his mechanics hand.
                                                      Ah proud father of a gentle baby girl 
                                                      with tiny shoes and little curls.
                                                      He is making memories of life to prance about in his heart
                                                      In his old age with the falling summer rain.
                                                      
                                                       
                                                      "Peggy" is the oldest daughter as you will see,
                                                      Who devoted herself to my fathers house.
                                                      With memories of the past and dreams for the future,
                                                      Now, she is starting a life of her own.
                                                      With a maiden hearts yearning to dance,
                                                      May her life be guided by the sweet falling summer rain.
                                                      
                                                       
                                                      "Lynda" with careful eyes that often seen
                                                      of a bridal gown and lines of a wife.
                                                      No toys of hers remain for all have been carried away
                                                      in their old age to join again in another small Lynda's play.
                                                      Proud mother of two girls, you will hear her singing
                                                      In the falling summer rain. 
                                                      
                                                       
                                                      "John L" came next as you will find.
                                                      He carved things out with a boyish pride,
                                                      but now are covered with dust and worn by time.
                                                      A man who now is in his prime.
                                                      With songs that he often sung,
                                                      Long ago, on a rainy day in the falling summer rain.
                                                      
                                                       
                                                      "Carolyn" is the seventh child, well I know.
                                                      I look with loving eyes, for folded here with well-known care,
                                                      here there is another small gathering lies,
                                                      With four children of her own and a husband full of lies.
                                                      If you listen closely, you can hear her lullabies soft and low
                                                      In the falling summer rain.
                                                      
                                                       
                                                      "Billy Joe" came next a captain of a baseball team with a pair of mules.
                                                      His memories of the
 past
                                                      are still sweet
                                                      but filled with dust and worn by time.
                                                      All are fastened and filed long ago in a cabinet in his house
                                                      fastened with his childhood pride.
                                                      He listens to the drops of the falling summer rain.
                                                      
                                                       
                                                      "Randy" is the youngest of the boys.
                                                      For nine long years, he was the baby.
                                                      He was the apple of his mothers eye.
                                                      He played with his match box cars, bats, and balls.
                                                      He still has some dreams that flows
                                                      As the wind blows the falling summer rain.
                                                      
                                                       
                                                      "Cathey" is the youngest of the ten.
                                                      Dreams of the future clearly written in her eyes
                                                      with half-written songs, poems, and stories so wild.
                                                      She loves to learn new things and teach others her knowledge.
                                                      A writer of this family memories is her destiny,
                                                      for she is the one that runs around in the falling summer rain.
                                                      
                                                       
                                                      Nine children not far from each other.
                                                      Nine brothers and sisters taught by their mother and father.
                                                      Oh when these hidden stories of ours lie open for our father's sight,
                                                      May they be rich in his golden hours.
                                                      Lives whose brave music long shall ring, like a spirit-stirring strain.
                                                      Souls that shall gladly be ours that sing
                                                      In the long sunshine after the rain.
                                                      
                                                      Copyright ©2004 Cathey McNabb