Ella's Poem



My Little Path


I tried to find my little path

That led around the brook.

And the log beside the brook left

A quiet, sandy nook.

Where I watched the shining fishes

Playing in the shining stream,

While I toyed in idle fancy

With some new, fantastic dream.


Now the path is gone.

The brook is dry.

A road runs in its place.

For Nature's art must step aside

When progress sets the pace.


The forest too, has disappeared.

Gone are the ancient trees.

There's nothing left of my regret

Nothing but the memories.


I sometimes wonder if at last

When the sun is hanging low,

And the evening shadows lengthen

In the golden afterglow.

Will I find my pathway waiting,

Waiting for me to come;

To guide my weary footsteps

To the Gate that leads to HOME.


Ella E. Preston

November, 1929

In Lynn Haven, Florida