Born in North Platte, Nebraska. Currently live in Bossier City, Louisiana.

Please feel free to request transfer of memorials. I grant management of memorials that I have created, to both family and friends. As long as there is positive intent, I have no problem relinquishing management of memorials. The whole point of graving is remembering those gone before us. This is information to be shared, not hoarded.

Here's a little personal dittie that I have written about graving

"Tis rock and stone and fence and mound I seek.
A lonely grave on a grassy knoll, inside my heart I keep.

A grandfather, not once but twice my great,
was buried there a'fore my eyes opened
for the first time.

An Auntie took me there, so long ago. I myself have been there, so I know
That there he rests, among the hills, and calves, and grass, and sky, and wind.

But I myself like him, am now so old, I can't remember all the stories told. Nor where exactly lies this grassy grave. Where a man once homesteaded and stood so brave.

I want to put a flower on his stone, to let him know that he is not alone. Round the bend, I go and carry with, My honor and my love, for Grandpa Smith.

But sun is going down, and I don't see, the very place I seek where he should be. Perhaps tomorrow will find me, finding him. If not, the grass keeps blowing in the wind."

In memory of Edmond Elliot Smith (1840-1908)

Born in North Platte, Nebraska. Currently live in Bossier City, Louisiana.

Please feel free to request transfer of memorials. I grant management of memorials that I have created, to both family and friends. As long as there is positive intent, I have no problem relinquishing management of memorials. The whole point of graving is remembering those gone before us. This is information to be shared, not hoarded.

Here's a little personal dittie that I have written about graving

"Tis rock and stone and fence and mound I seek.
A lonely grave on a grassy knoll, inside my heart I keep.

A grandfather, not once but twice my great,
was buried there a'fore my eyes opened
for the first time.

An Auntie took me there, so long ago. I myself have been there, so I know
That there he rests, among the hills, and calves, and grass, and sky, and wind.

But I myself like him, am now so old, I can't remember all the stories told. Nor where exactly lies this grassy grave. Where a man once homesteaded and stood so brave.

I want to put a flower on his stone, to let him know that he is not alone. Round the bend, I go and carry with, My honor and my love, for Grandpa Smith.

But sun is going down, and I don't see, the very place I seek where he should be. Perhaps tomorrow will find me, finding him. If not, the grass keeps blowing in the wind."

In memory of Edmond Elliot Smith (1840-1908)