To the Cannons Long Ago, by Lark

To the Cannons long ago,

Brother Brigham said, “You go

To the southern land of cotton

Where you’ll surely be forgotten.

Angus, Sarah and her sister

Went down in the sun to blister.

Carpets and draperies were no more.

Sarah swept a bare earth floor.

Angus’ wives received his pity.

All rushed back to Salt Lake City.

Angus’ brother, David H.,

Stayed to labor with the saints.

With grit and love they built a temple

Where the faithful could assemble.

Full one hundred years from then,

Another David came again.

Air conditioning now invented,

The heat was not so much lamented.

David gave his trademark squint,

“We will call it Tonaquint.”

For thirty years we can relate,

We’ve stayed and played at Number Eight:

Dreams of Shakespeare after midnight,

Soaking in December sunlight,

Running, biking, red rock sanding,

Trekking up to Angel’s Landing.

To Sandy Hollow for splash and dunking,

In rocky caves we went spelunking.

Sleeping mornings long past daybreak,

We awoke to Grandpa’s pancakes.

Yes, in all the land of Dixie,

We have lots of family history.

Pulsiphers, Terrys, Smiths by dozens,

Bastians, Johnsons—many cousins!

From 18 50’s to twenty-eleven,

This has been our part of heaven.

As our family grows but grander,

We know each will want to wander

To the red rock, loved by all.

But the space is getting small.

But the Lord’s love never ends.

He has space for us and friends

For Tonaquint Number Twenty-Three

Now belongs to you and me.