By: Ardis E. Parshall - March 07, 2013 The Lonely Grave By Howard R. Driggs There’s a lonely grave by a long, long trail,Where a tired mother sleeps.The grasses sigh,As the winds pass by,And the stars their vigil keep. The grave was made years, years ago,When the pioneers went west.One mournful dayOn that weary wayAnother was laid at rest. On a wagon tire that had borne her far,They cut the mother’s name;And marked the mound,The...
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