By a Native
H.J. Wenziker
Not many miles from Grant’s old home,
There’s a deep and winding canyon
Where the Native Americans used to roam.
‘Tis a place of many beauties,
With its stately walls so sheer,
And in the early nineties
It was stamping ground for deer.
There is stately pine and cedar;
In its bluffs are numerous caves,
It is up this very canyon
That Black Hawk led his braves.
Now a place for many tourists,
Where o’er its winding walls do climb,
And gaze up with astonishment,
When old Castle Rock they find.
Then there is Miner’s Canyon,
Which has a beauty all its own;
Standing high above its gateway
Is the rattlers’ stately home.
In the stream are many fishes,
But the black bass beats them all,
And shortly after sunset
You can hear the Grey Wolf’s call.
Here are birds, beasts, and shrubbery
While some coffee trees you’ll find.
You’d have to go to Argentine
To find others of this kind.
At the apex of this canyon
Stood a town in bygone days,
Through which the stagecoach used to rumble,
But modern methods changed their ways.
Gone those old days with the stagecoach,
And the mills have crumbled down.
Now a proposed State Park
Adorns the place where Millville was a town.
Now let us hope the state will purchase,
And that a state park we’ll have soon,
While the credit goes to Kleeberger
And Dr. H. Pepoon.
If you’re out in quest of scenery,
Why go touring through the west?
When here’s old Apple River Canyon,
The first, last and the best.