On this bright winter morning I was reading Kenneth Rexroth. This poem popped up, making me miss the farm. This is from Rexroth's 1949 [The Art of Worldly Wisdom] and the title is "The thin edge of your pride."
After a hundred years have slept over us
Autumn will still be painting the Berkshires;
Gold and purple storms will still
Climb over the Catskills.
They will have to look a long time
For my name in the musty corners of libraries;
Utter forgetfulness will mock
Your uncertain ambitions.
But there will be other lovers,
Walking along the hill crests,
Climbing, to sit entranced
On pinnacles in the sunset,
In the moonrise.
Have good memories.