Once upon a time, long, long ago
existed a quaint little place,
called, Fairfield, Moe.
Just a little white church
high on a hill with its tiny
cemetery, crowned with an old
rusty wrought iron fence that
I can visualize still.
On the corner, a small gas
station ran by a guy name Bill.
A country store, barber shop
and post office too.
The year was Nineteen
Forty two.
The Pomme De Terre River
flowed near by, and on its
banks children played,
people laughed as they
picnicked under the
bright summer sky.
Life was good.
Like the river,
life flowed slow.
Little did anyone know,
that Fairfiled would soon
disappear like the melting snow.
Forever silently entombed at the bottom of
Truman Lake, and there the memories of Fairfield
will rest for Heaven’s sake.