Afar in Tuna 
By Ethel M. Ericson 
When Mother s mother used to long 
For little Tunas blossoming lanes, 
She shut away the city's noise, 
And took me into her domains. 
For through her dreamful aged eyes, 
We both saw quaint old Tuna lie, 
Bed houses on an upland road, 
And pointed trees against the sky. 
We met her friends along the road, 
The buxom smiling farmer folk, 
Who waved gay aprons as we passed. 
Or bobbed their tall caps when we spoke. 
Sometimes we visited and caught 
The sun on kitchen copperware. 
Or glimpsed tall beds in inner rooms, 
Or sat in some dark ancient chair. 
But when we turned in at the church. 
She shut her eyes and stopped to sigh, 
“Dear child, if God is good to me, 
Fll go to Tuna ere I die." 
I promised years and years ago, 
Before my mother's mother died. 
That I would seek my heritage. 
The town of my ancestral pride. 
And often ships call last to me. 
That sail beyond the harbor bar. 
And I have walked a thousand times 
In dream, through Tuna's lanes afar; 
Yet borrowed memories must fail, 
And when they cease to bring unrest. 
Tuna! Thy name alone must call 
My spirit to unending quest! 
